


The Secret of Idlewild Manor

by TinDog



Series: All the Difference [1]
Category: Hardy Boys - Franklin W. Dixon, Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Jancy, New Relationship, This was my first Jancy fic, and five years later I'm still writing them, peril and fluff, romance and mystery, what am i even doing with my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24234019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinDog/pseuds/TinDog
Summary: "And in the end she came home to River Heights, sated with her adventures and ready to return to work." Nancy navigates a new chapter of her personal life while solving a case involving a dead blackmailer and a missing heir.
Relationships: Frank Hardy/Callie Shaw, Nancy Drew/Joe Hardy
Series: All the Difference [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749202
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: All the Difference

"Ned," said Nancy after one particularly boring dinner party, "why is it that you always introduce me to your colleagues as a 'girl detective'? You would never introduce Frank or Joe Hardy as a 'man detective.'" She said it carefully, keeping her face and her voice neutral, but Ned winced as though she had struck him. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel of his BMW.

"It can only mean two things," Nancy went on, calmly. "Either you're trying to fit in by giving the impression that you agree with their old-fashioned ideas about women's work, or you actually believe for yourself that a woman can't be a real detective. And neither of those options is exactly endearing you to me."

"How spineless do you think I am?" Ned protested. "I would never belittle you in order to fit in."

"I know," Nancy told him. "But that leaves only the second option. You're just indulging me, letting me play detective until we're married."

"Nancy, I am doing very well at work. Your father thinks I'll make partner within a few years. My wife won't need to work," Ned said. His jaw was set. Nancy knew that look. She also knew that she was more stubborn than he was.

"Good for her. I hope she is happy."

"Don't do this, Nan."

"Ned, we both know I'm not going to be that smiling little wife greeting you at the door in an apron every evening. I love what I do. I'm never going to fold up my brain and put it away in my hope chest for your sake or anyone else's."

"We've been together for so long," he said, trailing off as if uncertain where to go with that statement.

"I know," she said miserably.

"I thought you loved me."

"I did. I do."

"Which is it?"

"I'm not sure you even love me the way you think you do. We don't have any passion, Ned. We have- we have grown into a dear companionship," Nancy said carefully.

"Don't you dare say we can be friends," Ned warned.

"What do you want me to say? Our futures are obviously not going to line up," she said, becoming frustrated.

"We can work this out. Give it another chance."

"Can you promise to take my career seriously? Because I am a detective, I am always going to be a detective. Giving that up would be like giving up an arm or a leg."

Ned parked the car in her driveway and sat there, still gripping the wheel. There was a long silence in which he would not meet her eyes. She could tell by the way he held himself that he was fighting tears.

"I don't know how to say goodbye to you," he whispered finally.

"Ned," she said, her voice breaking. He turned suddenly and pulled her close, hugging her almost too tightly.

"It's unthinkable. You're a constant. You're part of my life," he said into her neck. She could feel the wetness of his tears there and she leaned her cheek against his head, letting her own tears dampen his dark hair.

"I know, Ned. But it's better this way, now, before we make vows we can't keep."

Nancy had done many brave things in her life, but the bravest of them was this: she untangled herself from Ned's embrace. She slipped his ring off her finger and put it gently into his hand. She took a deep breath, gave him one last long look, and stepped out of his car, free to face the future on her own terms.


	2. Perspective

She had done the right thing. She knew that, instinctively, right down to her very bones. And she liked to think she had done it gracefully. But after it was done, Nancy was overwhelmed by how sad and restless she felt. She was between cases and with nothing to set her mental focus on she was lost. In an effort to distract herself she began project after project- she started a charcoal sketch based on a photograph of her beloved little dog, Togo; she drove out to the garden center and spent two backbreaking afternoons digging and mulching and planting rosebushes along the side of the house; she stormed the stronghold of Hannah's kitchen and spent hours learning to make creme brulee. None of it was enough. The gardening wore out her body, but her mind still spun.

On Friday afternoon, about a week after the breakup, Nancy was lying on the couch, reading the first sentence of a novel over and over, when Bess marched in.

"Hi, Nan! We're here," she said unnecessarily, dropping her purse on the coffee table. It thumped heavily. Evidently, Ms. Marvin had come with ammunition. George trailed in behind her, a bottle tucked casually under one arm.

Champagne and chocolate, Nancy realized. It was the girls' traditional post-crisis fare: chocolate for comfort, champagne to celebrate a new season of life. Nancy had raised her glass many times, toasting new beginnings for Bess, George, Callie, Helen- even, one terrible night, for Iola in memoriam-but she had never been on the receiving end before. Nancy sat up and swung her feet to the floor, making room for her friends to sit. Bess claimed the vacant couch space. George sat on the arm of a chair, looking at her expectantly.

"Guys, don't just stare at me," Nancy said.

"I am so sorry I couldn't get over here earlier," Bess said, wrapping Nancy in a soft and vanilla-scented hug. "Everything that could go wrong in my classroom went wrong this week and on top of it all Myra got another ear infection. But we're here for you now. Tell us everything, sweetie."

"We've been texting all week," Nancy said. Bess raised an eyebrow at her.

"Not the same," she said. "Hand me my purse, George. Now, I am going to paint my nails while I am safe from a toddler who wants to help, George is going to open the champagne, and you are going to talk to us." As she spoke she unloaded a bottle of nail polish, a package of tissues, and a large Ziploc bag of her homemade double fudge cookies.

"I'd hate to be one of your kindergarteners. You must have them performing like a drill team," George remarked.

"Don't make me put you in time out!" Bess said. George escaped to the kitchen, laughing.

"I'll be fine, Bess," Nancy said, helping herself to a cookie. "It's a tough adjustment, that's all."

George returned with three glasses and poured out the champagne. "I had a feeling this was coming."

"I didn't want to do it," Nancy said, taking a grateful sip. "I always sort of knew we had different expectations. None of the Nickerson women have ever worked. Ned thought my detective work was exciting when we were younger and he could participate, but I knew he'd want me to give it up soon. I guess- I guess I just hoped if I never looked directly at the truth, it wouldn't be true after all."

"This from the girl who needs to know the stark truth about everything else in the universe," George teased, grabbing a cookie.

"He meant well. He's smart and he's sweet and he saved my life more times than I can count. Girls, please tell me I did the right thing."

"I think you did, sweetie," Bess said, sweeping candy-apple-red varnish languorously across her thumbnail. "Look. I may not be as clever or athletic as either of you, but I understand relationships. Nancy, you had been with Ned since high school, and that's a lot of time to invest with a person. You probably don't know who you are without him. But who you were with him would never have been everything Nancy Drew was meant to be. You made the right choice."

Nancy grabbed for a tissue. "It would be so much easier if he were still away at college or something. He works with my dad, of all people. I can't get any distance."

"Maybe you should get out of town for awhile," George suggested.

"Maybe," Nancy said. She reached for her champagne and lifted the glass. "To the future, I guess."

"To the future," her friends echoed.

Despite her friends' support and encouragement, she still felt off-kilter. River Heights didn't feel like home anymore and she couldn't tell whether she or the town were at fault. Probably a little of each, she thought, and she decided that as long as she was feeling unmoored she would take George's advice and run with the current for awhile. So Nancy packed a suitcase and went out, with mixed fear and exhilaration, to do all the things she had been thinking about doing "someday." She went to Greenland first, then to Europe. She worked on an archaeological dig and on a fishing boat. She attended an opera in London, skated on a canal in the Netherlands, and posed for a young artist in Rome. She had a brief and regrettable rebound fling with a touring Russian violinist. And in the end she came home to River Heights, sated with her adventures and ready to return to work.

"Did you get it out of your system?" Ned asked, having run into her at the grocery store.  
"That's a rude thing to say," Nancy said, and resumed picking through the apple bin for an unbruised dozen.

"A fishing boat, Nancy?" Bess asked, a sour look on her face.  
"Haven't you ever wanted to try really hard manual labor?" Nancy asked, smiling at her fastidious friend. Bess shook her smooth blonde curls.  
"I love you, but I don't understand you sometimes," she said.

Only George understood-energetic, fearless George, who was living her own adventure now by teaching martial arts at her own small studio. "I'm glad you went," she said when she picked Nancy up at the airport. Nancy laughed.

"The customary phrase is 'welcome home,' George," she said merrily.

George tossed Nancy's small suitcase into her trunk. "Are you glad to be back?"

"Yes. I really am."

"Well, then, welcome home. We missed you."

"I missed me, a little," Nancy said, and George shot her a glance which said she understood.

"Ready to pick up the old magnifying glass again?"

"Oh, yes," Nancy said fervently. "Please tell me the town is seething with suspicious activity."

"Rogues and thieves coming out of the woodwork. Chief McGinnis was spotted weeping into his coffee at the diner yesterday. Other customers say they heard him sobbing something about not being able to cope with the crime wave sweeping the country since the Drew girl went on vacation."

"George!" Nancy swatted her friend's arm.

"Sorry, Nan. It's been strictly 'O little town of River Heights, how still we see thee lie.'"

"Something will turn up," Nancy said, settling into her seat to watch the familiar scenery go by.


	3. Idlewild Manor

Carson Drew and Hannah welcomed Nancy home with hugs and a chocolate cake and Nancy felt, with some private amusement, like a child being welcomed home from summer camp. But to her great satisfaction, home felt like home again. Always self-possessed, she had gained even more confidence on her travels. She knew who she was- not just Carson Drew's daughter, not just the 'girl detective,' but a young woman in control of her own fate and pleased with her choices. The judgmental glances of women who were still scandalized about her broken engagement didn't bother her at all. The superior, pitying smirk turned on her by a former classmate hanging on Ned's arm at a local restaurant one night did bother her, for a moment, but she was able to take a deep breath and walk away without saying anything. She and Ned had had some good times, but she did not want him back.

The days slipped by and the pieces of a new routine slipped into place. Family. Friends. Volunteer work. A part time job at the community college library, just to keep her income consistent. She felt fulfilled, though impatient for a new case to present itself. And finally, one July afternoon, the missing piece of the puzzle slotted into place when a curt voice over the telephone announced that Sir Morgan Davis required her services as a detective. Would she report to Idlewild Manor at three o'clock, please, and be discreet.

"Hannah, guess what?" Nancy exulted. Hannah turned, smiling her understanding.

"Is it a new case, dear?"

"Yes, it is!" Nancy said happily, and went up to her room to brush her hair and change out of her faded jeans.

"Miss Drew. I'm glad you could come on such short notice." Sir Morgan Davis reached out to shake Nancy's hand. He was a tall man with a brisk, energetic manner, and he looked younger than Nancy knew him to be- his hair was still dark and his brown eyes clear and shrewd beneath thick but well-groomed eyebrows. But despite his immense vitality, his palm was clammy and there were new furrows in his forehead. He cleared his throat. "What I am about to tell you is extremely personal."

"I assure you, Sir Morgan, I hold myself to a very high professional standard."

"You come highly recommended to me by some friends of mine whose similarly personal matter you handled some years ago. And of course, I know your father. He's a good man. I believe I can trust you." Sir Morgan gestured toward a wine-colored sofa. "Please have a seat, Miss Drew."

"Thank you," Nancy said, seating herself and smoothing her skirt over her knees.

"Tea?" Sir Morgan asked, picking up the telephone on the side table. Without giving Nancy a chance to accept or decline he pushed a button and spoke into the receiver, presumably to his housekeeper. Then he seated himself in the wingback chair opposite Nancy and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. Nancy waited.

"I was being blackmailed," he said finally.

"But no longer?"

"The- er, the blackmailer- has died."

"Did you kill him?"

Sir Morgan regarded her for a moment, eyebrows raised. "It was a woman. And no, I did not kill her. Do you really expect people to confess just like that?"

"No one expects to be asked outright," Nancy said. "I can learn a lot from catching people off guard."

"I see."

"Did you file a police report?"

"I couldn't. It was a very sensitive matter. If my wife had found out-" He paused, his lips compressing into a taut line, and shook his head. "My wife, Linda, is in hospice care. I love her very much, Miss Drew. I couldn't bear for her to find out now. I don't want her to- I don't want us to part on bad terms."

"I understand," Nancy said gently. "Was it another woman?"

"And a child," Sir Morgan said, looking grim. "A boy. Well, a man, now."

"And is this son complicit in your blackmail?"

"I'm afraid he is also dead," Sir Morgan said, his distress increasing. "You must have seen the news report. It was two Wednesdays ago. Their car went over the bridge on Furnace Road just outside Bayport."

"Yes," Nancy said. "I read about it in the paper. The victims were a local high school teacher and his mother, who was visiting from out of town."

Sir Morgan nodded. "That was Rowena and Sebastian. Rowena Walker was her full name. My wife employed her as a maid about twenty years ago."

"Forgive me for sounding callous; but if the threat of blackmail no longer exists, where do I come in?"

"My dear Miss Drew," he said, shaking his head again. "No need to apologize. My affair with Rowena has been over for many years. And as for the boy, well, I never knew him. I never even knew he existed until a few months ago. What grief I feel is for what might have been, not for what was. I shall always regret being absent from his life." He stared past her for a moment, his thoughts carrying him far away. Then, suddenly, he returned his attention to Nancy. "What I need from you, Miss Drew, is help in locating Rowena's evidence. I was not as discreet in my youth as I ought to have been. She showed me several letters and an engraved ring I had given her. I want them back so I can destroy them."

Before Nancy could reply, there was a tap at the door and a neatly-dressed middle-aged woman pushed a little cart into the room. She parked it a little off to the side and deftly poured out two cups of tea. Nancy watched Sir Morgan, interested to learn a bit more about his character from his interaction with his employee.

"Thank you, Mrs. McCarthy," Sir Morgan said, accepting his cup. The woman smiled.

"My pleasure. Is there anything else?"

"No, thank you. I'll have three of those biscuits, if you don't mind, and don't start with your nagging about my cholesterol."

"Not a word," Mrs. McCarthy promised, setting a little plate of cookies on the table beside his chair. "Miss Drew, would you care for some refreshments?"

"Those cookies do look tempting," Nancy said, smiling.

"Good," Sir Morgan said. "I hate to see young girls depriving themselves. Mrs. McCarthy bakes these herself."

"They are delicious," Nancy told the woman. "My friend Bess would give her left arm for this recipe."

Mrs. McCarthy chuckled. "It's been passed down in my family for generations," she told the girl detective. "I'm glad you enjoy them." She took her cart and trundled it out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.

"An excellent woman, but given the chance she nags almost as much as my wife used to," Sir Morgan said in the complacent tone of a man who enjoys being looked after.

"All in your best interests, I'm sure. Sir Morgan, I have a few questions for you about the case."

Over tea and the remaining cookies, Nancy gathered the details she needed. Sir Morgan was an excellent client. Some people she worked with were too frightened or too embarrassed to give her a clear picture of their case; Sir Morgan, after he had overcome his initial reluctance, was intelligent and forthcoming. At her request he made a rough sketch of the ring he had given to Rowena, gave her a sample of his handwriting, and provided her with a lengthy list of information: Rowena Walker's last known address, Sebastian's full name and address, the name of the hotel where Rowena had been staying in Bayport, and his legitimate daughter's name and address.

"I'm afraid I'm leaving for San Fransisco on business in the morning," he said in the end, walking Nancy to the door. "I'll be absent for about a week, unless I am called back by Linda's doctor. Here is my contact information." He handed her a business card with the name of a hotel annotated in pencil on the back.

"Thank you. I will keep you posted on my progress."

"Miss Drew," Sir Morgan said, taking her hand and suddenly looking grave. "Please do be careful. I am worried that the car accident may not have been an accident."

"The thought had occurred to me," Nancy agreed. "I'll be cautious."

"Thank you, Miss Drew. I wish you the best of luck."


	4. A Dark and Stormy Night

Nancy knew a fair bit about engines. But at half past midnight, standing in a torrential downpour with the beam of her penlight flickering weakly under the raised hood of her blue convertible, she had to admit defeat.

"I need to run back out to Sebastian Walker's house, Dad," she'd said, peeking in the open door of Carson Drew's home office. Though father and daughter both kept irregular hours, as a courtesy they informed each other of their plans whenever possible.

"You spent all afternoon there," he had said, surprised.

"I know." Nancy gave a frustrated sigh. "I finished my preliminary investigating. But I think I missed something."

"Nan, it's past eleven, and didn't you hear the last weather report?"

"Severe thunderstorm warning," Nancy had said. "If it were a tornado warning I'd stay in. You know I won't be able to relax until I check out my hunch."

"Oh, I know," Carson had said, tapping a sheaf of papers against his desktop to straighten them. "Forgive your old dad, sweetie. I can't seem to shake being protective of you even now that you're all grown up."

"I'll be careful," Nancy had promised.

"All right, Nan. Good luck."

"Thanks, Dad. See you later."

"Don't forget your phone!" he'd called after her. And Nancy, her mind absorbed with the idea that she might have missed a secret compartment in Sebastian Walker's desk, had grabbed her jacket and purse and left her cell phone plugged into its charger in her bedroom.

Nancy took a deep breath and straightened, slamming the hood down. The noise was lost in a long rumble of thunder. Water dripped off her nose, trickled down her back, seeped into her tennis shoes. She gave her face a futile wipe with her wet sleeve and laughed ruefully.

"Not the worst situation I've ever been in," she said out loud, "but not the best, either. Well, Drew, you're just going to have to hike back into town and pray you don't drown on the way." Or get struck by lightning, her mind added helpfully. Nancy shook the thought into the back of her mind and, feeling determined, waded through a deep puddle to retrieve her purse from the car. She made sure the vehicle was sitting well off the roadway and started walking.

She'd only gone a few yards when a pair of headlights gleamed into existence at the bend in the road, watery and wavering in the gloom. Despite a little tentacle of fear that snaked its cold way up the back of her neck (who knew what kind of person this was, driving around in the dark and the storm?), Nancy ran back to stand beside her car and raised her hands to flag the vehicle down. With its engine muted by the roar of the storm, it reminded her eerily of a ghost ship sailing into port; but as it rumbled in out of the lashing rain and drew up in front of her it became a perfectly ordinary rusty Dodge pickup truck driven by a perfectly ordinary young man. He cranked his window down and yelled "Nancy, get your waterlogged butt in the truck!"

"Joe Hardy!" Nancy cried, her heart lifting. She ran around to the passenger side and climbed in, slamming the door on the storm.

"What are you doing here?" they both asked.

"You first," Joe said.

"I was on my way home from chasing a wild goose," Nancy told him, wiping water out of her eyes. She was shivering from a mixture of cold and relief; she hadn't realized how tense the whole situation had made her until she was safe in Joe's truck.

"Here," Joe said, tugging an extra sweatshirt out from the pile of gear in the center console and handing it to her. "I wish I could say I was on a case too, but the truth is I was just heading to the all-night gas station in River Heights for some ice cream."

"Luckily for me," Nancy said.

"Want me to take a look at your car?" he offered.

"Thanks, but in this storm it's not worth it. I'll have it towed in the morning."

Joe nodded and eased his truck back out onto the road. "It's bad out there, Nan. I'm really glad I was passing through."

"I was just starting to hike home," Nancy told him. Joe smiled.

"Figures," he said. "The indomitable Nancy Drew: neither rain nor sleet nor incipient tornadoes shall prevent her from completing her appointed rounds."

"At least I was doing something important. I'm not the one risking my life for a pint of Moose Tracks." Nancy smoothed her wet hair back. Her sodden jeans clung to her skin unpleasantly. She tucked her purple hands into Joe's warm sweatshirt and shivered again.

"You're cold," Joe said, reaching for the heat control. "I'm sorry. This old truck doesn't warm up the way she used to."

"I'll be fine. I'm afraid I tracked in a lot of mud, though."

"The only person that's gonna bother is Frank, and he rarely drives this truck," Joe said, clicking on his left turn signal. "So, no luck with your sleuthing tonight?" Nancy hesitated and he quickly added, "I understand if you can't discuss it."

"It's a complicated family situation," Nancy said. "I thought I might have overlooked a hidden compartment in an antique desk, but it turned out to be a reproduction."

"So no compartment," Joe said. "Well, knowing one more place it isn't means you're closer to narrowing down where it is. Whatever the it in question is."

"Thanks, Frank," Nancy said teasingly.

"Hey, now. I can be methodical, too!" Joe protested. "You guys think I'm all gut, no brain."

"Your impulsiveness matched with Frank's deliberation is what made you guys a good team. But obviously you have a working brain in there, too, because you've been doing very well on your own these past few years."

"Aw, shucks, ma'am. Don't make me blush."

"Don't act coy with me. I can see your ego expanding over there."

"Can't put anything past the Drew girl," Joe said agreeably. "You know, Nan, the circumstances aren't ideal, but it's really great to see you again. You want to come on back and have some ice cream with me?"

"Just you?" Nancy asked, curious.

"Frank took Callie to a bed-and-breakfast in the mountains for a long weekend."

"Romantic!" Nancy commented.

"Terribly," said Joe. "So?"

"I don't know," Nancy said. "I'd love to catch up, but I'm soaked to the bone and I'm too cold to eat ice cream."

"We have a dryer. I'll lend you some sweatpants, make a cup of coffee. Or soup. Do you like soup?"

"You're really starved for company, aren't you."

"Be nice, Nancy. I have no case and no one at home to talk to and that could very well prove fatal."

"Okay," she said. "I could go for some coffee. May I use your phone to let Dad know what's going on?"

"Forgot it at home," Joe said. "You're welcome to use it when we get there, though."

Nancy laughed. "I forgot mine, too. Some detectives we are."

"It's all about attention to detail," Joe said, laughing too. He pulled into the gas station and popped open his door, leaving the engine idling. "I'll just be a second. What's your favorite, in case you change your mind?"

Nancy waved a hand at him. "Anything but black cherry, but I doubt I'll have any. Get what you like." She watched as Joe pulled his hood up over his blond hair and dashed across the wet parking lot, disappearing into the warm brightness of the convenience store. She felt inexplicably relaxed, content even, despite her clammy clothing and broken-down car. She'd forgotten how Joe Hardy could make the world feel like a brighter place. Joe had an irresistable vitality, a perfect combination of intellect, strength, tenderness, and recklessness that had always drawn Nancy in like iron filings aligning toward a magnet.

A few minutes later the young man in question came bounding back through the deluge, blue eyes beaming. He slid behind the wheel and threw off his hood, shaking water droplets across the cab of the truck like a surprised puppy.

"Jumping Jehosaphat, it's coming down out there," he exclaimed happily. "Doing all right, Drew?"

"Never better," she said, smiling.

"Onward, then. To the Bat Cave!" Joe said.

"This is nice," Nancy said, walking around the small living room of the Hardys' apartment. She'd already left a message on the answering machine at home, explaining her situation, and changed into the sweatpants and t-shirt Joe had picked for her.

"Thanks for not sounding too surprised," Joe called from the kitchen. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right out with your coffee."

"Did Callie paint this picture?" Nancy asked, standing on tiptoe to examine a striking landscape hanging over the couch.

"Yeah. That's the waterfall down at the south end of the park in Benton."

"It's beautiful. I've never been to that park."

Joe handed her a steaming mug and shrugged. "They take her dog there for walks sometimes. I think going to the park is something only couples or families really do."

"George and I are planning to do some camping at parks this summer," Nancy said, wrapping her hands gratefully around the mug's heated surface.

"Camping's different," Joe said, disappearing back into the kitchen. "Chet and Frank and I still go camping a few times a year too. I just mean you don't see a lot of people walking around in parks by themselves."

Nancy settled onto the couch, drawing her bare feet up under her and letting the coffee and Joe's too-big sweatpants warm her chilled bones. Sounds from the kitchen let her track Joe's progress: the clatter of silverware, the clink of the bowl against the counter, the snick of the freezer door sealing.

"Does Frank plan to ask Callie to move in?" she asked, taking a cautious sip of her drink. Joe had remembered exactly the way she liked it, lots of cream and a sprinkle of sugar.

"Her parents would never stand for it. They don't even know she's with Frank this weekend," Joe said offhandedly, walking back in. To Nancy's surprise, he set his bowl down on the coffee table and turned away toward the bedroom, stripping off his shirt as he went and treating her to a glimpse of well-defined abs and a muscular back emerging from his low-slung jeans.

"Sorry, Nan. I'm a little damper than I'd like to be," he called back over his shoulder. Me, too. Nancy bit back the instinctive response. He rejoined her a few seconds later, tugging a dry shirt over his head, and collapsed happily onto the couch beside her. Rain lashed against the windows, reminding them both exactly how warm and comfortable they were in contrast.

"Thanks for the coffee. It's perfect," Nancy said, desperate to jolt her brain off the track it was headed down.

"Sure you don't want ice cream?"

"No, thanks. I'll wait until I regain feeling in my extremities."

"Fair enough." Joe spooned in an alarmingly large mouthful of his dessert. "It's so weird that I met up with you today. Ned and I were just talking about you this afternoon." Nancy raised an eyebrow at him and he hastily continued. "I ran into him at the gym, that's all. He said you're back in town for good and you're living with your dad?"

"Joseph Hardy. You're really going to start the conversation by bringing up my ex and my juvenile living situation? Why don't we talk about my poor dead dog and my nonexistent dating life while we're at it?"

"Shit. I didn't mean it like that."

"Dad and I both travel so much for work we agreed it would be a waste for me to get my own place right now," Nancy said, annoyed with herself for feeling defensive. "We split all the bills. I pay my own way in life. It's not ideal, but it works for right now."

"No judgment here. That's a smart way to handle it," Joe said. "I'm really sorry."

Nancy couldn't stay irritated with him. "I'm honestly not sure how you managed to fit your foot into your mouth alongside all that ice cream," she said, taking refuge behind her mug. Joe looked astonished for a moment before her twinkling eyes gave her away and they both laughed.

"Let me start over," Joe said. "So, how have you been?"

"That's much more diplomatic," Nancy told him.

"Frank's department. But hey, I really want to know. I don't think I've seen you since before you left town."

"It really has been awhile, hasn't it," Nancy mused.

"A year? Maybe more."

"More, then. Because I've been gone for a little over a year."

"Yeah, so I've heard. Good adventures?"

"No mysteries to solve, if that's what you mean. Well, no big ones. I did track down a stolen bull in Italy. Mostly I was travelling and working. It was a fantastic experience."

"I was so happy for you when I heard you'd left town," Joe said, licking his spoon. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're back. But damn, did it feel good watching you break free."

"That's a really sweet thing to say," Nancy said, surprised. Joe shrugged.

"What are friends for?"

Nancy took another sip of her coffee to hide the blush rising in her cheeks. She liked knowing Joe cared. "So, what about you?" she said.

"Oh, let's see. Caught a thief working at DeLuca's Jewelers, then spent a few months on a big case with Dad and Frank. That was a bad one. Drugs. I was undercover but somebody tipped them off. Big nasty fight ensued in which I took a bullet to the shoulder. Frank dragged me out of there unconscious as the building started to burn. Pretty cool, right? Straight out of Hollywood."

"Joe!" Nancy gasped. He coolly pulled the neck of his shirt aside to show her the scar, watching her face for her reaction.

"It's not a big deal. I ran a half-marathon in May; that was a big deal. Enrolled in some online college classes too."

"Are you thinking of giving up being a detective?" Nancy asked, reaching over to push his shirt back into place. She'd certainly seen her share of violence, had been threatened and even injured, but the idea of someone shooting sweet, lively Joe made her stomach turn.

"Honestly, I don't know," Joe said. "I've never wanted to do anything else. I enjoy being a P.I. and I'm good at it. But I have to admit it's not as much fun now that Frank has a badge. Like you said, we were a good team." He shrugged. "What did you get your degree in, Nan?"

"Pre-law," she told him. "I think Dad is still a little bit disappointed that I didn't go on to take the bar exam. What are you majoring in?"

"Undeclared," Joe said sheepishly. "It's just basic courses right now, stuff I should have done right after high school. I'm coming to realize that twenty-six-year-old Joe has a lot less pride than seventeen-year-old Joe did. Somebody should've knocked some sense into me back then."

"Seventeen-year-old Joe would've punched right back."

"Yeah, you're right."

"Don't beat yourself up about it," Nancy told him, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "It's a sign of maturity that you recognize your past shortcomings. I have a lot of respect for what you're doing."

"Thanks for the encouragement," Joe said, returning the squeeze. "More coffee?" He snagged his bowl and her empty mug from the coffee table and headed for the kitchen.

"No, thanks. I don't want to be up all night."

"You're joking, right? It's already almost 3." Joe came back and settled himself on the couch again, draping one arm along the back of it. Nancy stiffened, fighting the urge to lean back, to curl herself within that extended arm and lay her head on his un-scarred shoulder.

"No way," she said, jumping to her feet. "I didn't realize it was so late. I should go!"

Joe yanked his arm back as though she'd bitten it. "I'm sorry! I wasn't trying to make a move on you."

"Is the thought of making a move on me that distasteful?" Nancy shot back, irrationally offended. Joe opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again.

"That's not what I meant," he said, bewildered. "Of course it isn't. I- Nan, I've been planning to call and ask you out. But I thought I was making you feel uncomfortable."

"Oh," said Nancy, the fight going out of her. "I'm sorry. Honestly, I felt very comfortable. But I thought I was misreading the situation and anyway, I don't want to overstay my welcome."

"You could stay all weekend and I would kiss your feet in abject gratitude. I'm so bad at being alone," Joe said with a self-deprecating laugh. "Besides, it's really late. I can drive you home if that's what you want, but you're welcome to camp out here."

"It still sounds bad out there," Nancy said slowly.

"Exactly," Joe said, patting the couch invitingly. Nancy sat. Joe dug the remote out from between the cushions and clicked on the television.

"Yes," Nancy said, looking over at him.

"This one?" he said incredulously, pausing his rapid flipping through channels. Nancy glanced at the screen. It was an infomercial for a home fitness program.

"Not that. I meant yes, I'll go out with you. What did you have in mind? Dinner?"

"Oh!" he said, enlightened. "Actually, there's a dinner dance to benefit the Bayport Retired Policemen's Fund next Wednesday. I was going to call you in the morning and ask if you'd like to go with me. But in person works too."

"I'd love to!" Nancy said. "Do you remember the time we went undercover at that ballroom dancing competition?"

"How could I forget? I still have my trophy. That one's got to be in my ten favorite cases." Joe's face sobered. "Maybe I should tell you the catch, though."

"Are we going in a professional capacity?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. It's just that it's traditionally more of a square dance type thing, not ballroom. Chief Collig calls the dances. It's a lot of fun, Nan. I know it sounds lame."

"No, it does sound like fun," Nancy said, giving his knee a pat and wishing she could make herself stop touching him. Joe didn't seem to mind. He covered her hand with one of his own, trapping it against his leg.

"We don't get dressed up like cartoon hillbillies or anything," he said uncomfortably.

"I didn't imagine you did," Nancy said, reassuring him. "Don't worry, Joe. I really enjoy community events like that. I like feeling connected to history."

Joe smiled and resumed clicking through channels with his free hand. "I knew I'd asked the right girl. Thanks, Nancy."

"Hold on," she said suddenly. "Go back to the local news."

"Weather report?" Joe said shrewdly, backtracking.

"Tornado watch," Nancy said, and the scrolling bulletin across the bottom of the screen agreed with her. A news anchor was standing in front of what might once have been a barn, struggling to keep her umbrella from turning inside-out and frowning concernedly behind her microphone. Joe let out a low whistle.

"And you were going to walk home in this."

"I hope my car is still where I left it."

Joe nodded. "That definitely settles it, though. You're staying here tonight. I'm sorry, Nan. I should've taken you home before getting my ice cream. I admit I was getting a bit lonely here but it was not my intention to take you hostage."

"I'm happy with how things turned out. It's been a fun evening. Anyway, if I were home I'd just be driving myself crazy thinking about my case."

"The best thing to do when you hit a dead end is to think about something else for a while," Joe said, and was it her imagination or was there a suggestive quality to the remark? He let go of her hand and slung his arm back along the couch, fingertips brushing her shoulder this time. Nancy couldn't help leaning into his touch; she had been keeping herself in check all evening but now every nerve in her body tingled its awareness of his warm proximity. Joe brushed his thumb along the base of her neck and watched her shiver.

"I can think of a few ways to distract you," he said softly.

"Is this why you asked me over?"

"No!" His fingers eased up her neck, cupping the back of her skull, turning her very gently toward him. "I promise there were no ulterior motives."

Nancy closed her eyes, savoring his touch. Joe had strong, capable hands, hands she had seen do everything from aiming a gun to coaxing music out of his old guitar; and now these same hands were cradling her face as though she were made of glass. Maybe it was the storm lowering their inhibitions; maybe it was simply and at long last the right place and the right time; whatever the reason, the sparks they had kept dampened between them blazed suddenly into undeniable life. Nancy leaned in slowly and pressed a kiss to Joe's lips. He smiled shakily against her mouth.

"I've always wondered what it would be like to kiss you," he whispered, pulling her closer. They kissed again and then again, spinning it out into a long series of soft, sweet kisses that made Nancy's blood surge with electricity. Ned's kisses had always been careful, respectful, and proper; Sergei's had drowned her with raw need and possession; but Joe's were the kisses of an equal, a meeting of mind and soul as well as lips, tinged with a deep hunger that both exhilarated and frightened her. He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue between her parted lips; his hands caressed her shoulders, slid down to her waist. Nancy surfaced, trembling.

"Joe," she gasped.

Those blue, blue eyes met hers, dark with desire but filled with concern. "We can stop," he said, releasing her waist.

"Can we?"

"Unless I'm mistaken, we've ignored a certain amount of sexual tension for almost a decade. We can keep ignoring it if that's what you want."

"After a kiss like that?" Nancy asked, and Joe laughed.

"It wouldn't be easy," he said, smoothing a strand of hair back from her face. "But I'd do anything to keep your friendship. I can put clean sheets on Frank's bed for you for tonight."

Nancy hesitated. Teetered. Stepped over the edge. "And what about your bed? Are the sheets clean?"

Joe kissed her exuberantly. "For now," he said.

Joe's bedroom was tidier than she'd imagined it would be. The common areas of the house held all the clutter of several people's daily activites and showed definite touches of Callie's influence; here, in Joe's personal space, the decor was sparse, purely and cleanly masculine. There was a square dresser and a tall bed frame in a natural wood color, and one tall bookshelf, filled with classics and back issues of Popular Mechanics. Every surface was bare except for his desk, which was covered with his laptop, a stack of notebooks, a fingerprint kit, boxes of ammo, a locked gun case, and a half-assembled circuit of some kind. The bedspread had one ragged corner and the pillowcases didn't match but the bed was neatly made and did indeed appear clean. Nancy sat on the bed and glanced around, expecting to see some memento of Iola- a photograph, maybe, or a piece of jewelry- but there was nothing in the room to indicate that Joe Hardy had ever been in a relationship with anyone.

"You can use my toothbrush, if that doesn't gross you out," Joe said, coming back out of the adjoining bathroom in his t-shirt and boxers.

"Thanks," Nancy said, slipping past him to take her turn in the bathroom. She surprised herself by taking him up on his offer and using his toothbrush, feeling a surreal sort of familiarity rather than disgust. She left his sweatpants on top of his jeans in the clothes hamper and stepped out into the bedroom wearing only Joe's t-shirt. She found Joe sitting up in bed, Frank's spare pair of glasses perched on his nose, squinting through them at what appeared to be a lawn mower engine repair manual.

"It says here all we need to do is insert tab A into slot B," he said, pushing the glasses up onto his head. "Looks easy enough. Wanna give it a shot?"

Nancy climbed into bed, reaching for a pillow to smack him with. "Not anymore, smartass."

"Dammit!" Joe said, tossing the glasses and manual onto his desk chair. "And after I studied so hard."

"I've found that hands-on experience is much more informative," Nancy said innocently, pulling the blue blanket up over her bare legs. Joe clicked off the lamp and rolled over, gathering her into his arms.

"I can't believe this is you and me," he whispered, suddenly serious. "I've had dreams about this but I never thought I'd be so lucky. I was sure you were going to marry Ned." He found the hem of her shirt and worked his hands up under it, smoothing them across her bare back.

"Joe," she said tenderly, kissing his jaw, his earlobe, his neck. "I had no idea you felt this way."

"Well, I wasn't pining around like some fruit loop in a fairy tale."

Nancy laughed. "I've always had a crush on you. Always. But we're such good friends I never let my mind explore it."

"Explore it, sweetie," he all but growled. With typical Joe impatience he was tugging at her shirt, easing it up over her head. Nancy let him toss it away into the dark before reaching out to reciprocate, pulling his shirt off and sliding sensitive fingertips across his broad shoulders, down his back, up his side again (Joe squirmed a little there. Ticklish. Nancy filed that away for future use.). Joe was smiling. She couldn't see him, but she didn't have to. Her roaming fingertips encountered the roughness of his newest scar suddenly and she stopped there, heart aching, to push him flat onto his back and straddle him, leaning in to rest her forehead on his.

"Don't you ever get yourself shot again, Hardy," she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," Joe said, wrapping his arms around her. They kissed again, slow and deep. Nancy felt weightless, buoyed by his strength and the isolating, pounding roar of the storm outside. They came together slowly, joyfully, with humor and friendship and intensity; and as the sun came up Nancy fell asleep in Joe's arms, a smile on her face.


	5. Down By the Bay

"Nancy Drew! I texted you five times last night!" Bess yelled across Main Street. Nancy, who was seated at one of the cafe's outdoor tables, waved her friend and her family over.

"Sorry," she called. "I had a bit of car trouble."

"And you were, what? Rebuilding your engine all night?" Bess asked sarcastically. She pushed her stroller under the shade of the table's umbrella and sat down across from Nancy, reaching for the fries on her plate. Nancy swatted her hand.

"This is the first meal I've had since lunch yesterday. Get your own."

"Why haven't you eaten?"

"Well, I've been busy all day. I woke up late and had to pull a few strings to get my car towed on a Saturday."

"Bess, I'm going to take Myra up to get an ice cream. Want anything?" Bess's husband, Tom, asked, leaning in to unbuckle the toddler from her stroller. Bess sighed, as tempted as ever by her sweet tooth.

"No, thanks. I have a leftover eclair at home." Tom walked off with Myra. Bess looked Nancy over appraisingly.

"You were wearing that t-shirt yesterday."

"So I got a little lazy this morning." Nancy took a bite of her hamburger and tried to avoid her friend's gaze. Bess looked impeccable, as always, and her formidable instinct for gossip never took weekends off.

"Your hair, sweetie..."

"A lot lazy."

"Nancy."

"Bess."

"Spill."

"I did have car trouble. And I forgot my cell phone."

"So you spent the night in a ditch somewhere?"

"Not exactly." Nancy smoothed her red-blonde hair. She had been optimistic that it looked presentable enough for her purposes. Callie had left a brush in the Hardys' bathroom, so it was at least untangled. "I know it's a little bed-head-y, but is it really that awful?" she asked.

"Sweetie, that's not bedhead. That's sex hair. And until you tell me who helped style it, I am not only going to withhold that cheesecake recipe I promised to give Hannah for your birthday, but I am also going to assume that you slept with Ned."

Nancy looked horrified. "How weak do you think I am? Bess, no. It was Joe. I was stranded in that storm, he just happened to be driving by-"

"And your clothes just happened to fall off? And you just happened to trip and fall on his-"

"Bess!" Nancy said, in her sternest tone. "Bess, don't. It wasn't like that. It was...it was different. I can't explain." Bess looked at her friend and dropped her teasing manner. She knew Nancy, and right now Nancy was both elated and scared. "It was real," Nancy said slowly, and Bess nodded.

"I'm happy for you," she said.

"I'm not sure what to do with it. Where to go from here, I mean. I wasn't looking for a relationship right now. But it's Joe."

"You know what I think? I think this has been a long time coming and you should just enjoy it," Bess said.

"So you'll give me that cheesecake recipe, right?" Nancy grinned and scooped up a french fry.

"Maybe," Bess said, adjusting her sunglasses. Suddenly she stood and waved to a thin blonde pushing a stroller down the sidewalk.

"Amber! Over here!" she called.

"Hi!" The young woman called back, deftly steering her way over to them.

"Nancy, this is Amber. Her son Ryan goes to preschool with Myra. Amber, this is my good friend Nancy."

"Nice to meet you," Amber said.

"Likewise." Nancy leaned over. "Hi, Ryan! It's nice to meet you, too." The little boy stared at her for a moment before offering her the stuffed cat he was clutching. Nancy smiled. "What a nice cat."

"Cat," Ryan echoed.

"He doesn't talk much," Amber said. "I'm sorry I can't hang out but I'm dropping him off with his babysitter in half an hour."

"Ooh! Do you have a date?" Bess asked.

"Something like that," Amber said lightly. "See you Monday, Bess. Nice meeting you, Nancy."

"Bye!" Bess called. She turned back to face Nancy. "Nan, please don't do your Sherlock thing," she said.

"My what?"

"You know. That thing you do where you meet someone and then tell me all the suspicious things about them. Amber's really nice and she's been through a lot lately. She needs some friends in this town."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Bessie girl. I have too much else on my mind right now."

As an amateur sleuth, Nancy had relied heavily on the assistance of her friends. As a professional private detective, she worked alone. Her friends were adults with lives and pursuits of their own, now; and they were all old enough to realize that detecting wasn't a game, but a serious business. Succeeding meant hard work, long days, lonely hours, tedious travel. The life was not as glamorous as the movies portrayed it. Today, that lack of glamour manifested itself as a long drive in a cigarette-scented loaner car rather than the hot shower and change of clothes Nancy was craving. Still, her search of Sebastian Walker's home had turned up nothing, and it was time to investigate Rowena Walker's hotel room.

"What can you tell me about the Bay View Motel in Bayport?" she asked Bess as her friend buckled a chocolate-stained little girl back into her stroller.

"Sleazy," Bess said.

"They have bedbugs," Tom chimed in. Both women looked at him and he raised his hands defensively. "What? It's common knowledge. My former boss used to meet his secretary there on her lunch break and her best friend liked to gossip."

"I have to run out there this afternoon. Don't look at me like that, Bess. It's for a case."

The Bay View Motel was a tired-looking brown building sandwiched between a Wal-Mart and a bar. Nancy doubted its dingy windows afforded much view of anything at all, least of all of the bay. She downed the last of her soda from lunch, ran her fingers through her hair, and stepped out of the car.

The lobby was decorated in the same drab brown tones as the outer doors and siding. Before her eyes could adjust from the sunlight outside Nancy tripped on the peeling linoleum, managing to catch herself before she hit her head on the counter. She stood up, feeling a little shaken, and found the desk clerk staring at her impassively.

"That's a hazard," Nancy said breathlessly.

"I told Jimmy 'bout it last week," the man said, his tone implying that he had gone beyond the call of duty already and could not be burdened with further action.

"You need to put a cone or a sign over the area. Someone could be seriously injured."

"I told Jimmy. He knows what to do." The clerk yawned, adjusted his round-lensed glasses. "Rooms are $30 a night, miss."

"Is room 23 available?" Nancy asked. The man behind the desk stared at her for a moment.

"Room 23," he repeated, sounding as though it were a personal affront. Moving entirely without haste, he pulled a computer keyboard out of a desk drawer and plugged it in. His computer worked even more slowly than he did. Nancy passed the time while his program loaded by trying to decipher his name from his scratched and faded name tag. Jimmy, she decided. No. Wait. That would mean he was talking about himself in the third person. Maybe it says Timmy. Or maybe he's insane. It definitely looks like a J. Why does he even bother wearing that thing?

"Room 23 is not available," Jimmy-or-Timmy announced, cutting through her musings.

"What name is it booked under?"

Jimmy-or-Timmy sighed and clicked to another screen. "Jimmy don't like when I tell people that. But you're pretty, so I'll tell you. It says here 'Rowena Walker.'"

"Rowena Walker is dead," Nancy said, surprised.

"Nobody checked her out." Jimmy-or-Timmy laughed, suddenly, an unpleasant sound that made Nancy's skin crawl. "Ha! I guess she checked out. all right, but she never checked out of the Bay View Motel."

"May I have a look at her room? I'm a detective." Nancy pulled her credentials out of her purse and slid them across the desk at him. Jimmy-or-Timmy frowned.

"No. Absolutely no. That room is not available."

"I'm not going to take anything. You can supervise me the whole time."

"I can't let you into a customer's room. You don't have a warrant."

Nancy took a deep breath. "Your customer has passed away. She no longer requires the use of that room. And I may learn something valuable from taking a look before it gets cleaned."

"We don't like detectives around here and we don't let anyone into anyone else's rooms. Till someone comes to settle up the bill with us, the room stays locked."

"If that's all you need, I'll pay her bill. How much does she owe you?"

Jimmy-or-Timmy shook his head, his eyes gleaming slyly behind his glasses. "Lady, all I have is your word that she's dead and I don't know you from Adam. Or from Eve. Ha! So nothing doing."

"All right," Nancy said, unwilling to expend any more energy on the situation. She doubted the Bay View had room in its budget for any serious security measures. She would simply have to return later on and find out exactly how rusty her lock-picking skills had become.

One more errand lay between Nancy and home. She bumped into the parking lot of Swift & Morton Automotive just as Jay and Chet were closing up shop.

"How's the old girl?" she called.

"Bad news, Nancy," Jay Swift told her. "We had to order some parts. She won't be ready for you till probably Thursday."

Nancy's face fell. "That is not what I was hoping to hear."

"Sorry, Nan," Chet said, wiping his hands on a rag. "That's the downside to driving a classic car. You put a lot of miles on her and it takes its toll."

"And I'm hoping to put a lot more miles on before I have to retire her," Nancy retorted. "Don't think you can talk me into selling. I'm not falling for it."

Chet grinned. "It was worth a try."

"We'll give you a call when the parts come in. You can help out with labor if you want, save yourself a little off the bill," Jay offered.

"Thanks, Jay. I appreciate it." Nancy shook hands with both men and returned to her loaner car, which communicated via malfunctioning air conditioning and terrible suspension that it liked her about as much as she liked it. Fortunately, home was only a few minutes away. Nancy rolled down the windows and disregarded the speed limit, more ready than ever for a shower and some rest.


	6. The Plot Thickens

Nancy's phone was ringing. Blearily, she pulled her head up off her desktop and staggered to her feet, grabbing the phone from her discarded jeans pocket just before it went to voicemail.

"Nancy speaking," she croaked into it.

"I woke you up, didn't I." It was Joe's voice, sounding less penitent than it should have under the circumstances. Nancy sat down hard on the edge of her bed, rubbing her eyes.

"Please don't tell me it's morning, Joe. The last thing I remember is sitting down at my desk to update my case notes."

"Ouch," Joe said sympathetically. "I've had a few nights like that."

"Occupational hazard, I suppose. So, what's up?"

"I just wanted to hear your voice."

Nancy smiled broadly but said "Butter me up all you want. It doesn't change the fact that you woke me up."

"Ah, Nan. Next time I wake you up, I promise it will be in a more enjoyable way."

"That sounds promising," Nancy said. Joe said "Mm-hmm!" happily and with emphasis, and then changed gears completely.

"How's your case going?"

"It's nowhere near as straightforward as I thought it was going to be." Quickly, Nancy told him about her conversation with the peculiar clerk at the Bay View. "So it looks like I'm going to be doing a little breaking and entering tonight," she concluded.

"Want some backup on that?" Joe offered. Nancy hesitated. "I'm not implying you need a big strong man to help you," he said mildly. "I'm just offering, one detective to another. These jobs always go smoother with a partner."

"I'd appreciate it," Nancy said. "Let's meet in the Wal-Mart parking lot around 11."

"Roger that. What's the plan for the rest of the day?"

"I'm going to pay a visit to my client's daughter. She might know something. You?"

"Checking out some vandalism at Doc Crabtree's lakefront cottage this morning. Taking the Sleuth out on the bay with Frank this afternoon."

"Oh," said Nancy wistfully. "That sounds wonderful."

"I'll take you for a ride sometime, Nan," he promised.

"I'll hold you to that."

Joe laughed. "Meanwhile, you'd better get yourself a big black coffee and get on the warpath. Good luck today, Drew."

"Back at ya, Hardy. I'll see you tonight."

Downstairs, the sunny kitchen was alive with early-morning activity. Carson Drew was hovering over the toaster, knife in one hand and cream cheese in the other; Hannah was busily rolling out pie crust; Dora, Hannah's calico cat, was watching birds from the windowsill; and the teakettle was shrieking. Nancy moved the kettle off the burner as she passed by on her way to the coffee pot.

"Hannah? Pie crust for breakfast?"

"I'm bringing apple pie to our church potluck today. Will you be joining us, dear?"

Mug in hand, Nancy perched on a stool at the kitchen island to watch Hannah's deft hands assemble her pastry. "I wish I could. That pie looks tempting."

The toaster released Carson's bagel with a loud pop! that made everyone jump. "Bagel, Nance?" he asked, pulling his out onto a plate. "I picked up some fresh rye bagels from Sal's on my bike ride this morning."

"Mmm. Yes, please." Nancy took a sip of her coffee.

"What do you have planned that's more important than my apple pie?" Hannah asked good-naturedly. She left her pie crusts for a moment to choose a tea bag and pour hot water into her favorite mug. Nancy took advantage of her distraction to pilfer a cinnamon-sugar-coated apple slice from the large bowl of pie filling.

"I have to pay a visit to my client's daughter," she said, biting into the stolen treat.

"Glenna Davis?" Carson asked, sliding her toasted bagel and the tub of cream cheese over to her.

"Do you know her?"

Her father grinned. "I lost the regional spelling bee to her in middle school."

"Small town," Nancy commented.

"Since you're working for her father, you might want to know that Glenna has a police record," Carson said. "Nothing serious. Some shoplifting, underage drinking, things of that nature."

"Thrill-seeking rich girl antics," Hannah said, scooping apples into her pie crusts. "I remember her. She was real sweet when she was younger."

Nancy snagged another apple slice, dodging a smack on the wrist from Hannah's wooden spoon. "Thanks, Dad," she said. Standing, she drained the last of her coffee and wrapped her bagel in a napkin. "I'd better get going. Save me some pie, Hannah!"

"Little girls who steal pie filling don't get favors from me," Hannah yelled after her, shaking her spoon aloft in mock ire. Giggling, Nancy grabbed her car keys off the hall table and headed out.

Two police cars and an ambulance were parked in Glenna's driveway. Another police car was parallel parked along the side of the road opposite the house. Nancy parked her loaner car (which had developed an annoying squeak in the brake lines overnight, in addition to its existing faults) a little way down the road and walked briskly toward the epicenter of activity. Yellow caution tape festooned the property. A young officer standing by one of the parked police cars spotted her and called out "Ma'am, please keep back."

"Sorry," Nancy called back, halting at the end of the driveway to survey the scene. She was just beginning to give up hope of getting a closer look when she spotted a familiar tall, dark-haired figure striding past.

"Frank!"

He swiveled toward the sound of her voice, unsurprised. "I was just thinking it was about time for either you or my brother to show up."

"I'd like a look at the crime scene."

"You know I can't do that, Nancy."

"Can you tell me what's going on?"

Frank checked his watch. "I go off duty in three hours. Meet me at the diner."

"Over here!" Nancy called, waving Frank over to her booth.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, sliding in opposite her.

"I just got here myself," Nancy assured him. "I was over in the library basement, digging through the newspaper archives, and I almost lost track of time."

"Find anything useful?"

"Background information on the Davis family. Arrest records, philanthropic works, Sir Morgan's father's obituary. I doubt it's useful, but context is never a bad thing."

"Very true," Frank said. Nancy craned her neck, trying to catch the waitress's eye, and Frank smacked her hand with his menu. "Not that one!" he hissed, but it was too late. The young woman lit up with a brilliant smile and hurried over to their table. She leaned in toward Frank, displaying ample decolletage, and batted her eyelashes.

"Hi, Frank!"

"Hello, Vidalia."

"It's nice to see you, handsome. The usual?"

"Um," Frank said, blushing. "I'd like a cheeseburger, please. Extra pickles. And a Coke."

"Anything for you, sugar," she said, bestowing another lingering glance on the suffering young man. Nancy cleared her throat.

"I'll have a grilled chicken sandwich, please, and a Dr. Pepper."

"Sure thing," Vidalia murmured, still angled toward Frank. "Anything else I can do for you?" Emphasis on the anything, Nancy noted incredulously. The girl had no shame.

"No. No, thank you," Frank said uncomfortably. Vidalia finally walked away, putting some extra sway in her hips for his benefit, and Frank visibly relaxed. Nancy looked at him in amusement.

"I'm bringing you along every time I go out to eat. You get good service."

"It's just this girl," Frank said, looking embarrassed. "She won't leave me alone. I think she has a deal with the other waitresses, because no matter where I sit, she takes my table."

"You have to admit it's a little bit funny."

"No. No, I don't. It's so awkward!"

"I'm sorry, Frank."

"Callie doesn't like it, either."

"Callie is talented, genuine, and gorgeous. She has nothing to worry about."

"That's what I always tell her." Frank hesitated, then pulled a little box out of his pocket. He kept it cupped in his hand. "Not a word to anyone," he said seriously, and waited for Nancy to nod before pushing the box across the table to her. She peeked inside.

"Frank! That is beautiful." She slid the little box back to him, eyes sparkling. "When are you going to ask her?"

"I meant to do it while we were away last weekend," Frank said ruefully. "Soon, though." He stowed the box carefully away again in his pocket.

"So," Nancy said, sensing he was ready for a change of subject. "Tell me what was going on at Glenna Davis's place this morning."

"A neighbor, a Mrs. Bowyer-Britton, called in early this morning. She went over to return a jacket Ms. Davis had left at her house and found the place empty, with blood on the floor. What's your connection?"

"I'm working for her father," Nancy told him. "I'd hoped to interview her, maybe get a new angle on my case."

"That's too bad," Frank said.

"No leads on what might have happened?"

"Well," Frank said.

"Here you go, darlin'," the waitress interrupted, setting down their plates with her smile again aimed at Frank.

"Thank you," Frank said. Vidalia lingered, wiping a nonexistent spot on the next table and fussing with the little rack of sugar packets, before finally sauntering away toward the kitchen. Nancy raised her eyebrows at her friend.

"Handsome? Sugar? Darlin'?"

"Drop it," Frank said through clenched teeth. "I am never eating here again."

"That jealous bitch only gave me three and a half french fries."

"I'm sorry, Nancy. Let me call her back."

"Don't!" Nancy said hastily. "It's not worth it. What were you going to tell me about the Davis case?"

"Oh, right," Frank said, looking glumly at his plate. "Here. Take some of mine. Well, all I can really tell you is that the blood at the scene is a confirmed match for Glenna Davis's blood type. Her neighbor claims to have seen a dark car pull up outside Ms. Davis's house around 4 o'clock yesterday afternoon, but that could be imagination. She was really enjoying all the attention."

"I know the type," Nancy said. "It's a lead, at least."

"It's a rabbit trail, that's what it is. But if you want to waste your time hopping down it, that's your prerogative."

Nancy shrugged. "At this point, I'll latch on to any slim chance I can find." They ate in silence for a few minutes.

"I'm going out in the boat with Joe this afternoon," Frank said finally, reaching for his water glass.

"So I heard," Nancy said. "I'm a little jealous. It's a perfect day to be out on the water."

"You could come along," Frank offered. "I'm sure Joe would be happy to see you."

"Thanks, but Joe and I are meeting up later this evening. He's playing Watson to my Sherlock down at the Bay View Motel."

Frank groaned. "I'm not sure what kind of illicit activity you're implying. Either way, I don't want to hear about it."

"Don't older-brother me, Frank. You're off-duty. Relax," Nancy told him, reaching for her drink.

Frank and Nancy parted ways outside the diner. Frank headed home to change into civilian clothes, and Nancy took a walk downtown to visit the local jewelers and pawnshops on the off chance that someone might have tried to unload Rowena's ring. Having had no luck at the Bayport shops, she circled back to her car to check out the shops in adjacent towns, Benton and River Heights.

"Okay, Drew," she said aloud, pulling out onto the county road. "Facts: Item 1, Rowena and Sebastian Walker are dead. Was it really an accident? Remember to call Frank later and see if he can get a copy of the accident report." She took advantage of a stop at a red light to roll down her window.

"I miss my car," she grumbled. "Item 2, results of search at Sebastian's house. Namely, nothing. I'm not sure Sebastian knew about his mother's little foray into blackmail, especially if his death was an accident. Item 3, Jimmy-or-Timmy. He very well might have searched the room for valuables after I left, in which case he may have the letters and the ring. Item 4, the disappearance of Glenna Davis- was it faked to cover her guilt? Or real, and she is in danger?" So many questions, so few answers, she thought with a sigh. With any luck, she would start uncovering the facts soon.

Nancy was a strong believer in making her own luck. There was not much she had been unable to accomplish after setting her mind to it. So she was pleased but not surprised when her confidence was rewarded by the discovery of a ring matching Sir Morgan's sketch in the pawnshop in River Heights.

"Can I help you, Miss?" the skinny girl behind the counter said, snapping her gum. She sounded bored. Nancy looked up from the glass jewelery case, pushing her hair back behind her ears.

"Yes," she said. "May I have a closer look at that ring?" She indicated the one she was interested in, a gaudy-looking gold band holding a heart-shaped ruby.

"Holy shit. You're Nancy Drew." All traces of boredom had vanished from the girl's voice. She was staring at Nancy, eyes wide.

"Yes," Nancy said, feeling a pang of empathy for Frank. This situation was not as embarrassing as his, but it was awkward enough that she felt bad for having laughed at his discomfort.

"I can't believe it. I'm, like, a really big fan. I'm serious. I have a scrapbook with all the newspaper articles about your cases. I'm even taking criminal justice classes at the community college because of you." The girl was practically squealing. Nancy reached across the counter and touched her arm lightly, trying to calm her.

"I'm really proud to have inspired you," she said gently. "What's your name?"

"Andrea. Andrea Farley."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Andrea. Now, may I have a closer look at the ring? And please don't touch it if you can help it. Pick it up with these tweezers."

"S-sure." Andrea fumbled with the keys, dropped them, tried the wrong one in the lock, and finally retrieved the ring from the case. She set it reverently on the counter.

"It's real pretty," she said. "Is it a mystery?"

"It's part of one," Nancy said, retrieving a small fingerprint kit from her purse. She dusted the ring carefully, but there were no clear prints. Nancy set aside the tweezers and lifted the ring between her thumb and forefinger, turning it to reveal the inner portion of the band. To R.W. "Eternity was in our lips and eyes." M.D. Her enraptured audience chewed her gum furiously throughout this performance and sighed audibly when it was concluded.

"Antony and Cleopatra," Nancy murmured. "This is the right ring. No prints, though."

"Too bad," Andrea said, looking crestfallen.

"It was a long shot," Nancy said, tucking her little kit away. "Now, here's another long shot: can you describe for me the person who brought this ring in?"

"Two blonde women," Andrea said promptly. She closed her eyes as though visualizing. "Only one of them did any talking. The other one waited outside. The one who came in was taller than you. Long nose, dark eyes. Expensive clothes."

She had an excellent memory for faces. Nancy was impressed. That didn't fit the description of any of Nancy's first-choice suspects- not Rowena, not Jimmy-or-Timmy, not Sir Morgan. On a hunch she pulled out her photograph of Glenna Davis and showed it to Andrea.

"That's her," the girl said, surprised.

"Did the woman who waited outside look as though she could have been this woman's daughter?" Nancy asked. Colette Davis was supposed to be doing a semester abroad in London, but that could have been a lie to throw her grandfather off her trail.

"I dunno," Andrea said. "I didn't think so. She looked bossy and impatient. This one," gesturing at the photograph, "was real out of it. Like her eyes were real unfocused."

"Drugs?"

Andrea shrugged. "I don't get paid to ask questions. I just take the stuff and give out whatever money Chuck says it's worth."

Nancy nodded. "One last thing. How much to buy the ring?"

Andrea named the amount and Nancy paid it, carefully folding the ring and receipt together in a zipped pocket of her purse for safekeeping until she could deliver them to Sir Morgan.

"Thanks for your help, Andrea. You've been terrific. If you ever need anyone to write you a reference, call me!"

The girl blushed bright red. "Thanks!" she said.

Nancy drove back home slowly, pondering what she'd learned. Glenna's criminal record niggled at the corners of her mind. There seemed to be two possible explanations here: either Glenna had learned about Rowena's blackmailing efforts and decided to take matters into her own hands, or Glenna had been kidnapped and drugged and used to dispose of the ring. She was going to have to make sure Colette was really in London and find out if Glenna had any drug charges on her record.

Her phone rang just as she reached home.

"Nancy!" It was Sir Morgan. He sounded agitated and out of breath. "I'm at the airport now. I just wanted to let you know I heard about Glenna and I'm catching a flight home in half an hour."

"I was planning to call you this evening and update you on my progress," Nancy told him.

"I'll give you a call tomorrow," he said.

"All right. For now, can you just answer one thing- is your granddaughter Colette really in London?"

Sir Morgan sounded puzzled. "Yes," he said. "I spoke to her advisor just last week and she assured me Colette is doing well. And I got a postcard with a London postmark from the girl the day before I called you."

"Thanks," Nancy said. She wished him a smooth flight and disconnected the call, checking the time. It was only one o'clock; still much too early to meet up with Joe. She pushed aside her impatience and headed into the house to figure out her next step.

George tapped at Nancy's bedroom door and stepped in without waiting for a response. She perched on the edge of Nancy's desk, raising her eyebrows wordlessly.

"You talked to Bess," Nancy said.

Nod.

"You're not pleased."

Emphatic nod.

"George, you like Joe. You play on the same softball team. You do biking fundraisers together."

"That's not the point, Nan. Of course I like Joe. What I don't like is seeing you jump into a rebound relationship with a good friend. It's like watching you two hold hands and jump into the crater of a volcano."

Nancy sat back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers. "It's not a rebound. Sergei was a rebound. This is different."

"You're telling me you two have something in common besides sex?" George said frankly. "I had my money on the other Hardy, honestly. Joe isn't your type. You like Bing Crosby; he likes Led Zeppelin. You like ballet; he likes beer."

"I like beer," Nancy interjected.

"You know what I mean."

"I do. And I'm touched that you are concerned." Nancy took a deep breath. "As for the other Hardy- well, for one thing, Frank is very happy with Callie. And even if he were single, he's not for me. That dark-haired, sensible persona is too much like Ned. Joe is smart and adventurous and he suits me."

George bounced the heel of her sneaker against a desk drawer. "I just don't want to watch you get hurt and pull our friend group apart with you." She ran a hand through her dark pixie cut, further tousling the already rumpled curls. "I'm sorry. That sounded really harsh."

"No, I understand," Nancy told her. "I'm a little nervous about it, George. But it's a good nervous." She smiled a little. "I like Led Zeppelin just fine, anyway. You make me sound like such a snob."

George smiled back, her thin shoulders relaxing. "How goes the case?" she said.

"Well, somebody has her ass parked on my list of suspects, so I'm not really making much progress," Nancy teased.

"Oh great. I'll probably walk out of here with a list of names imprinted on my shorts."

"Serves you right."

"Seriously though. If you need any help with those bad guys you know who to call."

"You're number one on my crime-fighting speed-dial," Nancy promised. Her friend laughed.

"Did you eat dinner yet?"

Nancy glanced at her watch, surprised. "Is it really dinnertime?"

"Yeah. I've been at the studio all afternoon getting set up for tomorrow's lesson groups and I'm starving. Take a break and come get Chinese with me."

"That's the best idea I've heard all day." Nancy tossed her pen onto the desk and stood, stretching her tight shoulder muscles. "One condition, George. You're driving."


	7. Adrenaline

Nancy didn't always have the luxury of choosing what clothes she'd be wearing when a case turned active. She'd been taken captive in an evening gown, had run for her life in a skirt and heels, had attempted a bit of stealthy investigating in flip-flops and a bikini. Tonight, however, she was able to plan ahead; she dressed with deliberation, choosing her clothes as though it were a ritual. Jeans. Grey tennis shoes, a bit shabby with wear but molded exquisitely to her feet. A dark grey scoop-neck t-shirt, a blue baseball cap to cover her distinctive strawberry-blonde hair, a serviceable weatherproof wristwatch. She slipped the earrings from her ears and her mother's sterling silver claddagh ring from her right hand, dropping them carefully into a little ceramic dish on her dresser. A familiar feeling, part nervous energy and part joy at using her abilities, was building inside her. This must be what a bird in the air feels like: complete, all potential fulfilled.

Joe was waiting in the parking lot, Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" floating out the open window of his truck. When she saw him her heart gave a ridiculous flutter; she felt like a cliche but he looked so good in his tight black t-shirt she couldn't help but stare. As she pulled up he cut off the music, pocketed his keys, and hopped out to open Nancy's car door for her. When she stepped out he put one hand on her waist and leaned in for a kiss.

"That's a first. I don't usually greet colleagues like that." He seemed a little nervous. Nancy took a deep breath to steady herself.

"Maybe you just haven't been working with the right people," she said flippantly, taking a step away from him to help them both focus. Maybe this was a mistake, thinking we could work together, she thought. It was a simple job, in and out with next to no chance of complications, but distraction could still prove dangerous. They needed clear heads, not hormones and confusion. It didn't help that this was the first time they'd seen each other since the night of the storm.

"Still driving that lemon?" Joe asked, nodding at her loaner car.

"Chet said I probably won't get the convertible back till Thursday. It's been rough," Nancy said, relieved to turn to a less emotionally-charged subject.

"That sucks," Joe said sympathetically. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out an orange-and-white striped knit cap, which he pulled down tight over his blond hair. Nancy raised one eyebrow.

"The word is unobtrusive, Joe."

"This is a patented Joe Hardy technique," Joe said earnestly. "See, if we get compromised and have to get away from the scene, all any witness is going to remember is this hat. I ditch the hat, we saunter away looking casual, we're golden."

"Until Aunt Gertrude finds out what became of the hat she so lovingly knit for you," Nancy said.

"Well. Every plan has its risks." Joe leaned back against his truck, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. "So what's the plan, Captain Drew?"

"Room 23. In, quick search, out before anyone gets suspicious."

"Objective?"

"Personal letters, a stack of five. Last seen in their original envelopes, held together with a blue rubber band."

Joe nodded to show he'd heard. He was staring out across the parking lot, studying the layout of the motel. The building rose only two stories; the lobby area was situated at the far left end of the ground floor, and the sagging steps leading up to the balcony walkway of the second floor were at the opposite end of the building.

"This is going to be too easy," he said.

"Don't jinx it!"

"Second floor, right?" He glanced over, waiting for her nod. "Okay. I'm ready if you are."

Nodding again, Nancy grabbed his hand and led the way toward the Bay View. When they reached the motel parking lot they kept to the far end, walking just outside the reach of the lights. Joe wrapped an arm around Nancy's shoulders and paused halfway across the lot to kiss her, acting the part of a couple wrapped in their own little world. Nancy kissed back hard, feeling her adrenaline surge again. Joe was laughing when he broke away. He squeezed her hand, communicating his joy and letting her know that he was as much in his element as she was. With his hand in the small of her back they climbed the wobbly stairs to the second floor. Joe scanned for security cameras while Nancy slid her lockpick out of her pocket, concealing it between her palm and thigh as she stepped up to the door of Room 23.

"Nada," Joe whispered. "This place is a dump."

"No light in the window," Nancy whispered back, pressing her ear to the door. "No sound either."

"I've got your six, Captain," Joe told her, pretending to whisper into a walkie-talkie. "You're good to go. I repeat, you are good to go. Hardy out."

Nancy rolled her eyes. "Stop playing G.I. Joe and get over here."

Joe stepped over and wrapped his arms around her from behind, burying his face in the side of her neck, disguising the delay as she manuevered her lockpick as the lock-and-key fumblings of a distracted and amorous couple. Fortunately, the Bay View had not upgraded to keycard readers. Nancy was a little out of practice, but after an anxious minute she felt the lock pop. Joe reached around her to turn the knob and let the door swing open.

"Open sesame," he whispered. The young detectives stepped into the room, keeping their footsteps light. As soon as she heard the door click shut Nancy switched on her keychain flashlight, keeping the beam low as she swept the room.

"Clear," she said with relief. A second beam of light joined hers. Joe whistled.

"This is bad even by Bay View standards." The room was trashed. Whoever had found the ring had been in a destructive mood. The bed was torn apart, sheets and blankets strewn across the floor, pillows and mattress slashed. The nightstand lay on its side with its drawer on top of it. Cosmetics were smashed and ground into the bathroom floor. The door to the medicine cabinet dangled from one hinge.

"We're late to the party," Nancy said. While they searched the wreckage, she told Joe about finding the ring.

"So it's possible what we're after isn't even here anymore," Joe said, climbing onto the desk chair to pop out a ceiling tile and check the space above.

"It's one possibility. I don't know that Rowena was keeping the ring or the letters hidden in this room, so I don't know where my suspect acquired the ring."

"Why would she have hidden such personal stuff in a motel room?"

"Well, she didn't know she wouldn't be coming back for it," Nancy said, digging through the pile of clothes spilling from an overturned suitcase.

"No dice," Joe said, hopping down from the chair. "I wish I'd thought to bring my night vision goggles."

"You have night vision goggles?"

"Is that so unusual?"

Nancy didn't answer. Her flashlight beam had just glinted off the plastic casing of a laptop computer buried deep at the bottom of the suitcase. She pulled it out, heart pounding. "Got something."

"The letters?"

"No, a laptop. But this could be very useful."

"Take it along," Joe advised. "I think it's time we skedaddled."

"I know," Nancy said, taking one last look around the room. They had checked everywhere. At least the frustration of not finding the letters was balanced by the excitement of finding the laptop. She killed her flashlight and Joe followed suit.

"Come on," he said softly, fumbling for her hand in the dark. When he found it Nancy yielded to temptation and used it to yank him closer. She pressed up against him and pulled his face down for a kiss, pouring all her nervous energy and excitement into it.

"Is that how you want to play it?" Joe said. Nancy bit his lower lip, goading him to respond in kind, and was rewarded when he picked her up roughly and pinned her against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he kissed her, channeling the same mixture of adrenaline and joy and arousal back to her until they were both dizzy and panting.

"Come home with me," Joe said, kissing her just behind her left ear.

"Yes," Nancy said breathlessly. "But don't put me down."

"Sorry, Captain." He broke free of her thighs and set her down gently. "You can punish me later for my insubordination. Let's go."

The drive back to Joe's apartment took every last shred of Nancy's patience- and evidently it demolished Joe's, too, because as soon as she pulled into his driveway and parked behind his truck he was on her, opening her car door, picking her up again and pushing her back against the side of the car and kissing her dizzy all over again. They only broke apart when the front door light came on suddenly, startling them.

"Frank!" Joe said, making a run for the door. Nancy trailed in behind him, re-hooking her bra underneath her shirt, and found Joe pursuing Frank through the kitchen. Callie was standing in the hall, watching the whole thing resignedly.

"Hi," Nancy said.

"Hi yourself," Callie replied with a smile. She looked Nancy over, taking in her disheveled hair and bruised lips. "Good date?"

"Breaking and entering," Nancy said, smiling back. "Call off your Frank, please. Things were just getting good."

"Frank!" Callie called out obligingly. Her boyfriend released Joe from the wrestling hold he had him in and returned to her side. "I think we should retire tactfully to your bedroom and give these two some space," Callie suggested sweetly.

"I thought I told you I didn't want to know about your activities," Frank grumbled at Nancy. But he let Callie lead him into his bedroom and shut the door.

"Joe," Nancy said.

"Nancy." His arms were around her again, his lips brushing her eyes, her cheeks, her neck. Nancy's fingers started working the button of his jeans free from its buttonhole and Joe reciprocated by releasing her bra clasp again, their urgency growing.

"Let's find another wall to pin you against," he growled into her ear.


	8. Keep On Looking At Me That Way

Nancy woke up slowly, feeling more refreshed than she had been since before starting work on the Davis case. Warm sunlight was just beginning to filter in through the curtains. She scooted up a little in bed, propping herself on her elbows, and in the process jostled the blond head which had been using her bare belly as a pillow. Joe's eyes snapped open and she felt him go tense, his fight-or-flight reflex on a hair trigger after all his years of chasing trouble. She touched his face gently and he relaxed.

"Good morning, gorgeous," he said softly, turning his head to press a kiss between her breasts. "I don't know if I'll ever get used to this." He kissed her again, dropping a little lower this time. Nancy closed her eyes and let her head drop back, giving herself over to the sensations: the softness of his kisses, the scratch of his stubble against her skin, the sudden pleasurable sting of his teeth nipping at her side. She felt her body responding to his, skin flushing and heart stuttering in her chest. Joe's teeth scraped her hipbone and Nancy moaned, fingers twisting in the bedsheet.

"Joe, I don't have time," she said breathlessly. "I have a lot planned for today."

"Five minutes," Joe said, circling her navel with his tongue. Nancy arched into his touch like a cat.

"That sounds a bit one-sided," she said, eyes still closed.

"Would I leave you unsatisfied?"

"After only five minutes? Probably," Nancy said, desperately attempting to cling to logic over desire. Her mutinous fingers went on twining into his hair anyway, betraying her approval of what his mouth was doing.

Joe paused and looked up at her, resting his chin on her stomach. He winked. "Have a little faith in me, honey."

Feeling suddenly mischievous, Nancy grabbed Joe's phone off the bedside table and pulled up the stopwatch app. "Okay, Hardy. Five minutes. But if you can get me off that fast I'll-I'll bake you a cake."

Joe grinned, a filthy, joyous grin that did unfair things to her insides. "You're on, Drew. Start the clock."

Nancy collapsed back onto the pillows, breathless and boneless with pleasure. She had just enough strength left to smack the stop button on his phone and peer at the display through half-open eyes. 4.47. Shit.

"Well, look at that," Joe said in mock astonishment, flopping down beside her. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!"

"I call foul," Nancy mumbled, pushing the phone away. "You cheated with all that kissing and biting beforehand."

"Couldn't help myself," Joe said breezily. "Anyway, our terms covered the actual orgasm, not foreplay. Overruled."

"Rematch? Best two out of three?"

Joe leaned in close and kissed the tip of her nose. "I like chocolate cake. With chocolate frosting," he said. Then he was vanishing into the bathroom, laughing. Nancy threw a pillow at the door.

"Bastard," she said happily.

Although she would still have to stop by home for a change of clothes, Nancy decided to get a shower before she left. When she emerged from the bathroom she found Joe waiting with two cups of coffee and a plate of toast. He'd been tinkering with the electrical bits on his desk, but he set them down when she walked in.

"Still angling for a rematch?" he commented, turning to watch her retrieve her clothing from its various resting places around his room. Nancy shook her jeans inside-right before slipping them on, doing a little twirl for his benefit.

"Just giving you something to think about later," she said, reaching for her bra.

Joe got up and came around the bed to grab her shirt before she could put it on. He tossed it toward his pillow and reached for her, big hands fanning out over the delicate symmetry of her sides. Blue eyes caught hers, fathomless, filled with something she couldn't quite name.

"Nancy. We should talk."

Nancy swallowed hard, unable to look away. "Isn't that my line?" she asked faintly.

"Not a bad talk. Just a talk." Joe stepped back to sit on the edge of the bed, steering Nancy to a spot beside him. She sat, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged, and Joe mirrored her actions unconsciously. Nancy reached out to hold his hands, feeling nervous.

"I don't usually do this," she said. "I'm assuming that's what you want to talk about."

"What, have sex?"

"Casual sex."

"Is that what this is to you? Casual?"

Nancy forced herself to look him in the face. "No," she admitted. "But I'm not going to make any demands on you. I'm perfectly fine taking this one day at a time."

Joe's hands tightened on hers. "See, that's what I wanted to talk about."

"So talk to me."

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm really happy with the way things have been developing between us," he said hesitantly. "I like the way I feel when we're together. I feel happy and comfortable and-and better, if that makes any sense. And I like you so much. I like working with you, and I like hanging out with you, and I like sleeping with you. Don't smirk! I'm trying to be serious here!"

"I'm sorry," Nancy said demurely. Joe sighed.

"So I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm willing to take this one day at a time if that's what you want, but to me that doesn't mean I'll call you when I want sex and be off the hook for everything else. That's cheap. I'm all in, Nan. I'm not looking at anyone else. And I'll stand by you and be there for you and whatever other cliches you want to throw at me. I'm your guy, Nancy, and I'm hoping you want to be my girl." It was his heart, laid out for her there in his clumsy words, and Nancy realized what a precious gift it was. She squeezed his hands tightly and took a deep breath, willing her voice not to shake.

"You're saying you want us to be together," she said. Her voice shook anyway.

"Well. Yes."

"I think," Nancy said carefully, "that we'd be stupid not to give it a try." She smiled up at him, trembling with the sudden release of emotion; and Joe, tactile as ever, released her hands to grab her and pull her into an exuberant hug. For a few minutes the whole world was composed of their two bodies, warmth and heartbeats and pure happiness radiating between them.

Joe broke the silence, in the end. "Coffee's getting cold," he said reluctantly. They sat up, disentangling their limbs, and Nancy reached around for her shirt while Joe got up to retrieve their breakfast.

"Grab that computer, too, please," she requested, scooting up to sit against the headboard.

"Any guesses on the password?" Joe asked, settling in next to her and handing it over.

"A few," Nancy said, flipping it open. "But if it comes to it, I know a really good tech guy."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. He's a pretty good hacker and he's really hot, too."

"I've met that guy. He only works for cake."

Nancy rolled her eyes, fingers tapping away at the keyboard. "Moment of truth," she said, hitting "enter." The screen faded, stayed dark for a long moment, then lit up with Rowena's desktop. Nancy grinned triumphantly.

"Parents. So predictable."

"Her son's name?"

"Bingo." Nancy scanned the folders, looking for anything that looked promising. Photographs, anti-virus, tax records, a few games.

"Try her email. She probably left herself signed in," Joe suggested, offering her the toast. Nancy traded him the laptop for the plate and ate her slice while Joe entered the Hardys' wireless password and pulled up Rowena's web browsing history.

"Bingo again," Joe said, swapping the computer for the remaining toast. Nancy peered at the screen. Rowena's inbox was filled with email after email from Sebastian. Evidently Rowena felt as sentimental about electronic correspondance as she did about written.

"I could spend a week reading these," Nancy groaned.

"Skim through the most recent," Joe advised, reaching for his coffee. Nancy clicked on the last message Sebastian had sent.

"Classes, disobedient students, bicycle club," she said, skimming through. Joe yawned.

"Boring."

"More about his students. Biked 20 miles."

"Not a good reason to kill him."

"Too much rain to ride...petty argument with another teacher...oh, here's something. 'Met with Mr. Nickerson today about Tadpole. He seems to think I have a good chance of winning sole custody.' I had no idea Sebastian had a child."

Joe leaned in to look. "What did Rowena say about it?"

"Um...here we go. 'So glad to hear you are finally taking steps to get my poor baby away from that bitch. Don't worry about money for the attorney, Seb, I can help you out all you need.'" Nancy pushed her hands through her damp hair. "Of course Ned is the lawyer involved in this. Of course."

"I can talk to him if you want. I'm not afraid of the big bad ex."

"Thanks, but I doubt he'll be free to discuss the facts of the case, especially since it involves a minor. I'll talk to Bess first. She knows everything about everyone in this town." Nancy brightened. "At least now we know Rowena's motive for blackmailing Sir Morgan. She needed money to support her son's court case. And we can assume that the mother of Sebastian's child, whoever she is, is very likely mixed up in this whole thing."

"Do you think she killed Sebastian?"

Nancy closed the laptop and set it aside. "I'm not sure. I still need the details of the car accident."

In the kitchen, Frank and Callie were drinking their own coffee and eating scrambled eggs. Frank was reading the newspaper while Callie sketched his profile.

"Mornin', Gramps," Joe said, pushing Frank's reading glasses up his nose on his way to put their plate and mugs in the sink. Frank said "Hey!" and aimed an automatic punch at his brother, who dodged with the ease of long practice.

"Good morning, all. Joe, I'll wash those," Nancy said, following behind.

"You can wash up next time. Today you have work to do."

"I'm not the only one. Don't you have to follow up on that vandalism case?"

Joe shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I know who's responsible. Kid's in summer school all morning. I'll head out there this afternoon and catch the little criminal mid-mural."

Nancy pulled up a chair at the table. "Hey, Frank?"

"Hi, Nan. What can I do for you?"

"What makes you think I was planning to ask a favor?"

"You have a tell," Frank told her. "I can always tell when you're lying and when you're asking a favor. You hold your breath."

"Somebody should have mentioned that to me sooner," Nancy said indignantly.

"It's not obvious," Joe said. "It's just that we've known you for so long..."

"Callie, do I really do that?"

Callie looked up from her sketch. "Not that I've ever noticed. But you know me, Nan. I'm as gullible as a baby."

"Never mind that. What do you need?" Frank asked.

"That car accident last week," Nancy said. "I'd like to see the accident report."

"I'm not on duty today. I can remember the gist of it, though. Brake failure. There was no impact event; the driver just lost control and went over the bridge. The coroner found that the driver and the passenger both died of blunt force trauma."

"Could it have been deliberate?"

Frank thought for a moment. "We had no reason to view it as suspicious, but yeah, I guess the car could have been sabotaged."

Callie shuddered. "You'd think I'd be used to hearing things like this over breakfast."

"I'm sorry, Cal." Nancy stood up. "Thanks, Frank. That's helpful."

Joe walked her to the door, pulling her in for a long kiss in the entryway. "Talk to you later?"

"Mmm. Yes." Nancy smiled up at him. "Thanks again for your help last night, Joe."

Joe wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "My pleasure, mademoiselle."

"Dirty boy." Nancy kissed him again and left, laughing.


	9. Engines and Enigmas

Nancy parked her car in Mrs. Bowyer-Britton's manicured driveway and took a moment to finger-comb her windblown hair and shoot off a quick text to Chet. Am going to push your stinking Escort into Barmet Bay. Will reimburse you the $20 it is worth. Between the smoke-permeated upholstery, lack of air conditioning, no radio, squeaky brakes, and a newly-developed short in its electrical system that caused the windshield wipers to activate every few minutes, she was fed up with the vehicle. Tucking her phone into her purse, she smoothed the skirt of her dress and made her way up a flight of elegant stone steps to the front door.

The door opened just a crack in response to her knock. A red-rimmed brown eye applied itself to the opening. "Mrs. Bowyer-Britton?" Nancy said.

"I don't know you," the woman said suspiciously. "I'll call the police if you take another step."

"Mrs. Bowyer-Britton, I'm a private detective. I'm here to ask you some questions about Glenna Davis."

"For all I know you're the same blonde who took Glenna."

Nancy dug in her purse for her credentials and pushed them through the slit before it could close all the way. "My name is Nancy Drew," she said quickly. "Police Chief McGinnis can vouch for me, as can Officer Frank Hardy." There was a pause. Then her documents came back through and a click and rattle told her that Mrs. Bowyer-Britton was undoing the chain. The door swung fully open, revealing a short, slender woman with perfectly-coiffed grey hair, clad in a mauve pantsuit which had been ironed to within an inch of its life.

"Come in," she said, grasping at Nancy's hand.

"Thank you," Nancy said. She followed the older woman into a fussy, over-furnished sitting room and took the seat indicated to her.

"Mrs. Bowyer-Britton," she said, "please tell me about the last time you saw Ms. Davis."

"You can call me Ursula," the woman said. She leaned back in her chair, nervously twisting one of her rings around on her finger. "It's all so dreadful, Miss Drew."

"Nancy," Nancy said gently. Ursula made no acknowledgment.

"You don't look old enough to be a detective. But then, most of those nice police officers looked too young, too. I'm afraid I'm growing old," she said with a sigh, casting a sideways glance at Nancy to see how she would react.

Frank was right. This woman is living life in her own little spotlight, Nancy thought. Aloud, she said "Yes, it is dreadful. But the more you can remember, the faster we'll be able to help Ms. Davis."

Ursula's story was a bit more colorful than the version Frank had given her- in part due to Frank's editing, but also doubtless due to the fact that Ursula had had several days to embellish her version of events. Nancy was treated to an elaborate tale of premonitions ("I had a bad feeling all day and I just couldn't shake it"), omens ("When I read my tea leaves at breakfast they warned me of impending danger"), a dark car with no license plate ("I couldn't exactly see the back of the car from my window, dear, but I should have at least been able to see the corner of it. I wouldn't be surprised if that car were stolen!"), and a blonde woman who radiated evil ("Something about her was just not right, if you know what I mean. She had a very dark aura, Miss Drew. Very dark."). Hindsight being 20/20, Ursula blamed herself for not having called the police right then and there, despite having no proof of foul play.

"Let me sum up, to make sure I've got the facts right," Nancy said tactfully. Paring down the woman's flood of information, digging beneath the hyperbole and speculation, she could see the skeleton of the story: "Sometime between 4 and 5 o'clock Saturday afternoon, a dark-colored car pulled up in front of Ms. Davis's home. A young, blonde woman got out-"

"Blonder than you, dear. And skinnier. But about your age," Ursula interjected.

"And this woman escorted Ms. Davis out to her vehicle a few moments later."

"Yes." Ursula, distressed, resumed her hand-wringing and ring-twisting. "Glenna looked a bit unsteady on her feet but I didn't think much about it. She gets headaches, migraines, you know, and sometimes they make her dizzy. I'm so stupid, really, I should have realized."

"There was no reason for you to feel suspicious-" Nancy began, but Ursula cut her off with a dramatic wave of her hand.

"No reason, after the bad feeling I'd had all morning?" she lamented. "And there was so much blood. I really feel sick about it. Do you think Glenna has been killed?"

"No, I do not," Nancy said firmly. "She is much more valuable to her kidnaper alive than dead. The blood probably came from a head wound. That explains Glenna's dazed condition. Head wounds bleed a lot, even superficial ones." Ursula gaped at her, horrified. Nancy gentled her tone, realizing that the reality she was depicting was much harsher than the one Mrs. Bowyer-Britton was used to inhabiting. "I'm sorry, ma'am. We're all doing our best to find your friend."

"You're an angel," Ursula said bravely, dabbing at her eyes with an antique-looking embroidered handkerchief. The cynic in Nancy whispered that now she was just over-acting her role. The young detective carefully kept her expression compassionate. Thanking the woman for her time and insight, she took her leave.

Back in her car, Nancy checked her phone and laughed out loud. She had five messages from Chet, expressing with increasing forcefulness exactly what he would do to her if she rolled his car into the bay. She ignored them all. It was almost lunchtime- perfect timing for a visit to Bess. Her friend tended to get a little bored at home during summer break and amused herself by experimenting with new and invariably delicious recipes.

Nancy was not disappointed. A tantalizing cloud of aroma encompassed her the second she stepped through Bess and Tom's front door. She followed it into the kitchen, where she found Bess scooping out dough and Myra parked in her high chair, coloring. The little girl lit up when she saw Nancy, who greeted her with a kiss.

"Nancy!" Bess said happily. "Come. Taste."

"What are you concocting today? It smells heavenly."

Bess handed Nancy a spoonful of cookie dough. "Almond-mocha swirl. I'm thinking of dipping them in ganache when they're done. And I just finished making grilled cheese, asiago and avocado on Tom's sourdough bread, with summer corn chowder for dipping. You'll stay for lunch, right?"

"I was counting on it," Nancy confessed, licking the spoon clean. "Holy cow, Bess. This is better than s-"

"Hey hey hey. Little ears!" Bess interrupted. She slid the tray of cookies into the oven and dusted her hands off on a towel before reaching into the cabinet for plates and ramekins for serving the soup. "I appreciate the compliment," she said, "but for your sake I hope my cookies aren't really better than that. How are things going with you two?"

Nancy bit her lip. "Explicit. Incredible. I'll tell you all about it sometime when it's not going to corrupt the three-year-old."

"You'd better!"

"Mama, cookie?" Myra piped up.

"Soup first," Bess told her daughter. "Clean up your crayons so we can eat before Ryan comes over."

"Ryan! Yay!" Myra said.

"Playdate?" Nancy asked, helping the girl slot the crayons into their box.

"I'm babysitting, actually."

"Amber seems to use babysitters a lot. Is she going on a date?"

"It's not easy being a single mother, Nan. I don't pry all the details out of her, I just help when I can." Bess set their lunch on the table and stepped over to fasten a voluminous bib over Myra's sundress. "I think sometimes she picks up extra shifts, yeah. She works at the River Heights Pharmacy. And sometimes she does mention she's meeting someone."

"Where's Ryan's father?"

"They were never married, apparently, and I get the impression he died some time ago. Why so curious?"

Nancy shrugged. "Habit, that's all. This is delicious. Why are you not a chef?"

"Too much pressure. That would take all the fun out of it." Bess focused on cutting Myra's sandwich into quarters for a moment. "Any progress on your case?" she asked finally, turning back to her own meal.

"A little," Nancy said. "I was hoping you could help me out with it, actually."

"I'm not going to go poking around in any bug-infested motel rooms," Bess said.

"No, no. Joe and I took care of that last night."

"Please tell me you didn't spend the night in that glorified Dumpster," Bess scolded over the beep-beep of her oven timer. She got up and retrieved her cookies, deftly scooping the hot confections out onto a cooling rack.

"We didn't spend the night there. The room was trashed, anyway."

"Good. So how can I help?"

Nancy's eyes sparkled. "I need some gossip, Bessie dear."

"Now that I can handle! Who do you need dirt on?" Bess asked eagerly, rejoining her friend at the table.

Nancy leaned in, propping her forearms on the table. "What do you know about Sebastian Walker?"

Bess frowned. "I hate to disappoint, sweetie, but not a whole lot. He was fairly new to town. I think he'd been here about a year and a half when he died. He was well-liked by his students, I know that much. He didn't have much of a social life. I know he and Connie Adams had a bit of a spat recently about scheduling class time in the computer lab, but it wasn't a major feud or anything."

"Did you know he had a child?"

Bess looked startled. "That is new information. Was he married? Divorced?"

"I'm not sure. Joe and I found a bunch of email from him on his mother's computer, but they don't give a whole lot of backstory. Not even the names of the child or its mother. I'd say he was either divorced or never married. He was planning to take her to court for sole custody of the child."

The doorbell rang just then and Bess got up to free Myra from her high chair. "Come in!" she called as the toddler dashed away to greet her friend. Bess turned back toward Nancy. "That honestly explains so much about him. He was really handsome, Nan. He could have had his pick of women to date, but he seemed oblivious to all of them. He must have been getting over her still, or just focused on the situation with his child. That poor man."

Amber appeared in the doorway, a strange look on her face. It passed as soon as Nancy looked at her. "Hi," she said.

"Hey," Bess said cheerfully. "Come have some lunch before you go."

"Just a little, please," Amber said. "The soup looks really good."

"Everything is really good," Nancy said. "I always eat more than I should when Bess is cooking."

"Did Ry eat already?" Bess asked, bringing Amber's soup to the table.

"Yes, he did." Amber looked over at Nancy. "Were you talking about Sebastian Walker just now?"

"Yes," Nancy said. "Such a sad situation. Did you know him?"

Amber looked away, her cheeks flushing. "Just in passing. He came in to get prescriptions filled a few times."

"We were just talking about how nobody knew him very well, and how unusual that is in a small town," Bess chimed in. "People don't usually hold out that long against the local gossips. We usually get their life stories out of them within the first few weeks."

"I've noticed that," Amber said, looking pained.

"People mean well," Bess said gently. "Anyway, Nan, I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful. If I do hear anything I'll let you know."

"Thanks, girl. I do have one other string I can pull, though it won't be fun." Bess looked at her inquiringly, and Nancy sighed. "It turns out Ned was Sebastian's lawyer. I'll have to stop by his office and see what he can tell me about the case."

Amber's spoon clattered loudly into her empty dish. "I'd better get going," she said. "Thank you so much for the soup and for watching Ryan."

"Anytime," Bess told her. "It is seriously my pleasure."

"Nice to see you again, Nancy."

"Bye, Amber," Nancy called. She rose, too, and carried her dishes to the sink to rinse them. "I might as well go too and get it over with."

"Can you stay just for a few minutes and play with the babies while I clear up the kitchen?" Bess requested.

"After a lunch like that, I can't say no." Nancy set down her dishes and went in search of the toddlers. She found them playing with blocks in Myra's room and joined in for a few minutes of tower building and tower destruction before her phone went off in her purse, which she'd left in the hall. Myra abandoned her blocks and ran for it, shrieking "Phone! Phone!"

"Thanks, Myra-bird," Nancy said, rescuing her purse from the toddler's grasp. Ignoring Myra's new chant of "I talk! I talk!" she pulled out her phone and answered it, cradling it between her ear and shoulder to leave her hands free.

"Drew's Detective Agency and Daycare, Nancy speaking," she said.

"Nan. It's Jay."

"I didn't do it, Jay. It was a joke. Your car is safe and dry."

"The hell are you talking about?"

"Sorry, I thought Chet must have gotten you riled up."

"Nah. He's out to lunch right now. What did you do?"

Nancy settled cross-legged on the floor by Myra's bed, giving Ryan a thumbs-up for his impressive block structure. "Never you mind, Jay. So what's up?"

"Your parts came in early," Jay said through a mouthful of something crunchy. "You still interested in doing some of the labor?"

"Absolutely!" Nancy said. "When can I come in?"

Jay bit into another mouthful. "Suit yourself," he said in muffled tones. "You know when we're here." Nancy struggled briefly with her conscience. She really should go straight over to Ned's office and get any information she could out of him. Anything that might help her track down Glenna Davis was terribly important. On the other hand, the police were working Glenna's case, and having her own car back would make her investigation run much smoother. Nancy caved.

"I'm on my way," she said.

Bess popped her head into Myra's room just as Nancy got to her feet. "Done," she said. "You are free to leave, sweetie."

"Perfect timing. Jay just called; I'm off to put my poor little convertible back together."

"Have fun with that. We are going to eat cookies and watch Sesame Street," Bess said complacently. She pulled Nancy in for a hug. "Good luck," she said suddenly.

"Thanks," Nancy said.

Swift & Morton Automotive was less than two miles down the road from Bess's place. It was a very happy Nancy Drew that made the short drive and parked the loaner car in front of the garage. She gave it a pat on the dashboard. "This parting is no sweet sorrow," she told the car. "The most I can do is thank you for not actually falling apart mid-trip. May you be kinder to the next unwitting motorist who finds herself behind your wheel!" Gathering her purse and the emergency bag she'd stashed in the back seat, Nancy slammed the Escort's creaky door one last time and headed eagerly into the garage.


	10. Clarity and Confusion

Tuesday morning, Nancy was going through more of Rowena's computer files when Chet called. He didn't even let Nancy say "hello" before he was talking, loud and fast, his words spilling into each other in an incomprehensible tangle.

"Chet, slow down!" Nancy said, channeling what George called Bess's "teacher voice." On the other end, Chet stopped mid-word and sucked in a long breath.

"Damn it!" he said, slowly and clearly. Nancy's eyebrows shot up. Profanity? That was unlike Chet.

"That's better," she said, keeping her voice very calm. "Now start from the beginning, please."

"The beginning?" Chet echoed, his voice rising in what could either have been panic or anger. "I almost die and she wants me to start from the goddamn beginning!"

"Chet, where are you?"

"I'm at the fucking hospital, that's where I am."

It was Nancy's turn to gasp for air. "Are you all right? What happened? I'll be right over. Which hospital?"

"Nah, nah, nah," Chet said, slurring a bit. "Don't need you. Tony's comin' to pick me up. Mostly okay, hit my head is all, fucking doctor says I got a concussion. Car's totaled, that should make you happy."

"The Escort?" Nancy said, catching on. The concussion and the ensuing pain pills explained Chet's slurred voice and colorful vocabulary. Nancy had never heard him curse with such unrestrained fluency- had not, in all honesty, really thought he had it in him. She suppressed a nervous giggle, imagining the horror on righteous Mrs. Morton's face if she could hear her straight-arrow boy now.

"Yeah, yeah, that one," Chet said.

"I told you it was a piece of junk," Nancy said, trying to interject some lightness into the conversation.

"Dammit, Nancy, you don't understand. Nothin' wrong with that car. Some asshole tampered with the brake lines."

Nancy's blood ran cold. "The same method of sabotage as Sebastian's car. Chet, somebody was trying to kill me!"

"Somebody very nearly killed me," Chet said testily. "Fucking asshole!"

"I am so sorry," Nancy said shakily. "The brakes were working fine when I dropped it off yesterday."

"I'm not saying you gave me a death car on purpose, I'm just saying you better watch your freakin' back or they'll try it again. Bastard criminals. They never stop, they never leave anybody alone. My whole fuckin' life I've been watching it happen."

Realizing he was gearing up for a long tirade on crime and crime-solving, with possible detours into his lifelong friendship with Frank and Joe and the loss of his sister Iola, Nancy interrupted. "What happened? With the car, I mean."

"The car?"

"The Escort?" Nancy prompted.

"Oh, yeah, that one. I took the damn thing out this morning to see if the squeaking and windshield wipers were as bad as you said. Brakes went, I ran the stoplight just outside River Heights an' got clipped by some kid in a minivan. He's okay. But we could both have fucking died. Dead, Nancy. What the hell are you mixed up in?"

Nancy had a sudden, vivid flashback of the look on Amber's face when she'd overheard Bess and Nancy talking about Sebastian, and it suddenly clicked. Amber. Amber is Sebastian's ex. Amber must have tampered with my brakes as she was leaving yesterday afternoon. "The usual," she told Chet. "Look, I've got to go. I'm so sorry and I'm so glad you're okay and I'll reimburse you for the car and everything later, just right now I-"

Chet, wise to the ways of detectives, interrupted her. "Go get 'em, Nance. Just don't fucking die."

Nancy loved this point in a case, the pivot point, the kaleidoscopic rush of emerging from confusion and chaos into a perfect, tidy pattern. She was in charge, she was confident, she was surveying the Promised Land from the top of a mountain- and then bang, dead end. Deciding that Amber must be behind Sebastian's death and the disappearance of Sir Morgan's letter was the easy part; finding Amber (and more importantly, finding proof to back Nancy's hunch) proved much more difficult.

To begin with, Bess called before Nancy could even leave the house. She was babbling almost as incoherently as Chet had been. Nancy sighed.

"Bess. Sweetie. Slow down."

"Amber never came back for Ryan and she won't answer her phone and he won't stop crying!" Bess wailed. "I know you're on a case already but please, Nancy, I need help!"

"You've had him ever since she dropped him off yesterday afternoon?"

"Yes." Bess sobbed audibly. "I've been trying not to freak out, because if she was on a date maybe things just went really well and she isn't awake yet. Or m-maybe she got really drunk. But maybe she's d-dead in a ditch somewhere and"-here her voice rose again-"how am I going to explain that to a two-and-a-half-year-old?"

"Just hold it together for a little while longer, Bess," Nancy said over her friend's sobbing. "Take the babies out for an ice cream cone and then to the park to tire them out. When they go down for their nap, then you can freak out. I'll come by this afternoon to check on you. Do you happen to know Amber's address?"

"I- I never asked. She didn't tell me and I didn't want to embarrass her by prying."

"Okay. What about her phone number?"

Bess blew her nose. Sniffed. "She's not answering-"

"I know that, but it's a start."

"I'll text it to you." Bess sniffed again. "I just know something bad is going on."

"It's going to be okay," Nancy said firmly. "Have I ever let you down?"

"N-no."

"And I'm not going to let you down this time either. Now go fix your makeup and put on a happy face for that little boy."

"I can do that," Bess said, sounding a little steadier. "Thanks, Nancy."

Nancy hung up feeling determined. So apprehending Amber wasn't going to be as straightforward as she'd anticipated. She could handle that. She hesitated for a moment, planning her course of action: Ned's office first, both to get an awkward situation out of the way and to confirm her suspicion that Amber was the mother of Sebastian's child. Then she'd try the River Heights Pharmacy, Amber's employer. They ought to have her address on file.

Ned still worked at the same law firm as Carson Drew. Nancy poked her head into her father's office to wave hello on her way through and Carson cupped a hand over his phone receiver and mouthed "Come in" to her. She perched on a corner of his desk and waited while he wrapped up his phone call.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," he said, setting the phone down.

"All in the line of duty. I'm here to talk to Ned about a case."

Carson nodded, seeing the unhappiness on his daughter's face. "It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"I was hoping for later. We- well, we haven't exactly been friends since I broke up with him," Nancy admitted. And in a town this size he's bound to have heard about me and Joe.

"Ned's a good man," Carson said mildly. "And the Nickersons don't have the temperament to hold a grudge. I'm sure you'll be fine."

"I suppose."

"He's been seeing someone, you know, so you don't need to worry about whatever it is you're doing with Joe Hardy."

Nancy blushed. "Dating, Dad. And thanks."

"While I have you," Carson said, "are you free for dinner tonight? I have reservations at La Maisonette."

"For father-daughter bonding purposes, or does the handsome lawyer have an ulterior motive?" Nancy said, peering at him through the magnifying glass he kept in his top desk drawer.

"I'm sure I didn't raise you to have such a suspicious mind."

"No, that must have been Hannah's influence."

Carson laughed. "Yes, doubtless."

"Nice evasion, by the way. What's up? Am I finally going to meet the mythical Camille Bradley?" Nancy teased. Her father had taken Camille out several times but had never introduced them.

"Mythical? I assumed that by now you'd be qualified to write the woman's biography."

Nancy grinned. "Well, yes, but it isn't polite to let on that you know so much about a person. It makes people a bit uncomfortable."

"I'm not sure it's possible to make Camille feel uncomfortable. I've never met a more poised individual," Carson said thoughtfully.

"Sounds formidable," Nancy said, hopping to her feet. "I'd better get on with it. I'll meet you at the restaurant, though. What time?"

"7:30. Bring Joe, if you'd like."

"He goes bowling with Frank on Tuesdays, I think. But I'll see you then."

Ned, anticlimactically, was out to lunch.

"He's been gone about 45 minutes," his secretary, Lacie, said helpfully.

"Then he should be back soon. I'll wait." Nancy settled into one of the upholstered chairs in front of Lacie's desk, pulling out her phone to check for texts. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Lacie staring at her, obviously recognizing her as Ned's ex-fiancee and hungry for gossip. Nancy lifted her head and stared back until the woman blushed and turned away, pretending to be very busy all of a sudden with paperwork. Finally Nancy heard the elevator doors open and firm footsteps approach.

"Nancy?" Ned paused in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

"Ned. Hi." Nancy stood, offering him her hand. She hadn't meant to disconcert him, but a small, mean part of her took pleasure in his confused fumbling as he juggled his keys and a takeout container and a to-go cup and finally freed his hand to shake hers.

"Do you have a moment?" she asked, grabbing his dangerously-tilting drink.

"I'm still on my lunch break," he said, taking it back and heading into his office. Nancy followed, closing the door on Lacie's curiosity.

"Please," she said. "It's for a case."

"No surprise there," Ned said slowly. "Everything is always about a case with you."

Nancy looked at him, surprised. "Are you still angry with me?"

"I guess so. The minute I saw you it all came flooding right back." Ned looked annoyed. He plunked his food down on his desk and sat down, frowning at her. "Why would you think it's okay to come waltzing in here asking for information when we haven't spoken in a year? All that talk about independence and respect...what a joke. The fact is you are using me and you always used me and I don't have to let you do it."

Bewildered, Nancy took a step closer to his desk. "I never used you, Ned."

"That's how it feels to me. All those years you let me give you my time, my help, everything. And when you got tired of me you just walked away."

"All those years," she repeated. "I was with you all those years because I liked you. We were friends! You gave to me, I gave to you, that's how friendship works. I went to your football games. I stayed up all night with you when your grandma passed away. I loved you. And I'm sorry we haven't talked. Honestly, I wasn't sure how to reach out to you."

"I didn't want to talk to you. You broke my heart." Ned's jaw was clenched in that old familiar expression and he would not look her in the eyes. Nancy hesitated.

"Do you still..."

"What? Do I still want you back? No."

"Dad says you're dating someone."

"Yes. And I hear you're screwing Joe." He was trying to be crude, trying to goad her into fighting back. Nancy didn't take the bait.

"Joe and I are dating," she said.

"Congratulations," Ned said flatly.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say, Ned."

Ned sighed. "I'm not sure either. I'm sorry, Nancy. Maybe I need to run off to Europe too and get some perspective. I understand why you did what you did. And Emily, Emily wants the kind of life I want and my family likes her and I can see a future with her. I should be grateful. But I'm having trouble letting go of my resentment toward you, my resentment of all those wasted years."

"Were they wasted?" Nancy said, finally locking eyes with him. "We were happy together. We had some good times. I understand, though. Be angry with me if you need to. It was the right choice and we are both on better paths now. Maybe someday we can be friends again, but I'm not going to pressure you."

"Someday," Ned said. Though a bit more relaxed, he looked as drained as she felt. "Just call before you show up next time, all right?"

"Deal," said Nancy. She hesitated again. "Personal feelings aside, I really do need some information."

"About?" he asked with resignation.

"Sebastian Walker. He was consulting you about a child custody case before he died."

Ned blinked. "Yes."

"I need to know the name of the child's mother."

"That's not really ethical-"

"Sebastian Walker is dead. So is his mother. Sebastian's half-sister has been abducted and his son has been abandoned. The only unethical action here would be withholding information I need to positively identify my suspect and apprehend her."

"Amber something," Ned said slowly. "Catalano? No. Caivano. Amber Caivano."

"Thank you," Nancy said. "One more thing. Do you have her address on record?"

"No," Ned said positively.

"You're not even going to check?"

"Nan, the case never progressed that far. We met once. Sebastian expressed his concerns for his son's welfare and his desire for sole custody of the child. He believed his ex-girlfriend was using drugs and neglecting his son. We had a follow-up appointment scheduled to really get things underway, but as you know, he died. I'm sorry. That's all the information I have."

"That's helpful. Thank you." Nancy turned to go. "I'll see you around, Ned. Don't be a stranger." She was almost out the door when he called her name. She turned.

"Good luck," he said simply.

Next up was the River Heights Pharmacy. Nancy drove the few blocks quickly and found a parking spot right outside the building. This conversation would be leaps and bounds easier than her last one. Harry Wainwright, the pharmacist, was an old friend.

"Amber Caivano?" the balding man repeated, looking as though the name left a sour taste in his mouth. "She was supposed to work today. This isn't the first time she's missed a shift, either. What do you need to see her for?"

"She misses shifts?" Nancy said, surprised. According to Bess, Amber had worked hard, even picking up extra shifts when she could.

"I try to give her some leeway. I know she's raising a little boy all on her own. But it's getting worse and worse," Harry said.

"I need her address, if it's not too much trouble," Nancy told him.

"It's here in her paperwork somewhere. Lynn, where's Amber's file?"

"In the cabinet, alphabetically," Lynn said patiently. Harry pulled out a drawer and started digging. Lynn, a pleasant-faced middle-aged woman, joined him and deftly pulled out the correct file.

"What do you need to know, dear?" she asked Nancy.

"She needs her address," Harry said.

"Let's see. Oh, that can't be right," Lynn said, frowning.

"Why's that?" Harry asked, crowding in to look.

"That's Sir Morgan Davis's address. That's Idlewild Manor," Lynn said, puzzled. "Who processed this paperwork?"

"Probably me," Harry said. "You were out sick the day I hired the girl."

Lynn closed the folder with a snap, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Nancy."

"Thanks anyway," Nancy said. She purchased a package of almonds and some gum while she was there and headed out, lost in thought. Amber was a newcomer and as such stood out in town. It shouldn't be too difficult to pick up a new lead on where she spent her time. Nancy checked in with Bess, who was doing much better; she texted Joe and confirmed that he was indeed bowling with Frank that evening; she ate her almonds and pretended they were a proper lunch; and she sleuthed until she felt like an overworked bloodhound. She barely had time to stop in and give Bess a hug between changing her clothes and meeting her father and Camille at the restaurant.

Carson and Camille were already seated when she arrived. Nancy's father stood to welcome her and pulled out her chair for her.

"Nancy, I'd like you to meet Camille Bradley. Camille, this is my daughter."

"I'm pleased to meet you," Camille said, reaching for Nancy's hand. She was a petite, dark-haired woman with frank green eyes. Nancy liked her immediately.

"Likewise," she said, smiling. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Nothing too boring, I hope," Camille said. "And of course I've heard all about you. Your father thinks you hung the moon."

"Ladies, shall we order?" Carson suggested, beckoning to the waiter. After they had all made their requests he looked to Nancy.

"How was your day? Did you wrap up your case?"

"I'm afraid things just got more complicated," Nancy told him, reaching for her water glass. She summarized the day's activities, beginning with Chet's mishap and ending with her failure to track down Amber.

"I even called Helen Corning- my friend who works at the local airport," she explained for Camille's benefit. "No luck. It's like she evaporated."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Carson said.

"You said she gave the address of Idlewild Manor. Did you check there?" Camille asked.

"I did think about it. But the manor house is never completely empty. Sir Morgan has a housekeeper and some other staff who are on the premises daily," Nancy said wearily. "I'm not sure how Amber could get away with squatting there, especially with a toddler."

"She'll slip up sooner or later. They always do," Carson said encouragingly.

"Thanks, Dad." The conversation turned to other things; Nancy made herself concentrate on the good food and the company, allowing her mind to rest. Bess is coping well. Chet is going to be fine. The police are still working to locate Glenna. Everything will come together in time.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Joe as she got into bed a few hours later. Thinking about you, gorgeous.

Nancy smiled in the dark, typed out a reply. Thinking about you, too, in those sexy bowling shoes.

Bowled a 250 tonight. Does that turn you on?

You know it.

Got your bad guy yet?

Closing in. Should have her soon.

Awesome. A pause, then a second message. Looking forward to tomorrow night. The dance! Nancy groaned. She hadn't forgotten about it, exactly, but time had slipped away faster than she'd realized.

Me too, she sent back, and fell asleep puzzling over what she was going to wear.


	11. Time in a Bottle

"Hannah, help," Nancy said, wobbling into the kitchen on a pair of mismatched shoes. Hannah closed the oven door and straightened, looking at the younger woman. She chuckled.

"The left one," she said. "You'll be on your feet all night."

"I suspected as much," Nancy said glumly, "but the right one is sexier."

"Limping around with blistered toes isn't sexy," Hannah said archly. It was Nancy's turn to laugh.

"You are always right," she said, kicking off the higher-heeled right shoe. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Limp, probably," Hannah said. "When is Joe picking you up?"

Nancy glanced at the kitchen clock. "In about 20 minutes."

"You're ready early." Hannah looked her surrogate daughter over carefully. Nancy's hair was held back in an intricate braided updo, pinned with a pretty clip which had belonged to her mother; her dress was a simple deep purple v-neck with thin shoulder straps, fitted through the bodice, with a flaring knee-length skirt perfect for dancing. Nancy twirled a little and struck a pose.

"Do I look okay? Is the makeup too much?"

"You look beautiful," Hannah told her. "Very elegant. Are you nervous?"

"It's just Joe, Hannah. I've known him all my life."

"Then I suppose there's another reason for your jitters and that push-up bra."

"Too much coffee," Nancy said, choosing to ignore the comment on her choice of lingerie.

"Coffee makes you blush, now?"

"Hannah!"

Hannah smiled broadly. "I may just be the housekeeper, but I think I've solved this mystery," she said. "And there's the doorbell already. Seems Joe may have had a little too much coffee, too." She bustled off to answer the door, leaving Nancy in the kitchen to pull on her matching shoe, touch up her lipstick, and follow her out to the foyer. Hannah was still there, gathering up her coat and purse.

"You two have a good time," Hannah said, kissing Nancy's cheek on her way out. "I'm off to Bess and Tom's to watch the little ones."

"Thanks, Hannah. Good night!"

"Good night!" Joe echoed, opening the door for the older woman. He had barely closed it again when Nancy stepped forward. He met her halfway, reaching for her hands.

"Hello, beautiful," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"Hello, handsome."

"I feel like a kid going to prom," Joe confessed. "I've got butterflies and everything."

"You look incredible," Nancy told him. His everyday t-shirts and jeans did his athletic body justice enough; tonight, the combination of that body and his irresistable grin with an impeccably-tailored dark suit was stunning. He had somehow managed to retain all his innate joie de vivre while adding a layer of urbane sophistication. He looked, Nancy thought, like the kind of person capable of both conversing in fluent French with visiting dignitaries, and pushing her up against the wall of the alley behind a local bar. Her blush deepened at the thought.

"It's just the clothes," Joe said. His gaze traveled across her body slowly, as though he were savoring the pleasure. "All I had to do was throw on a suit. You probably spent all afternoon getting ready."

"Are you saying I needed a lot of work?"

He didn't rise to her teasing tone. "No. I'm saying you're gorgeous. You look like art. Everyone there is going to be jealous of me tonight."

"It's just the dress," Nancy said, echoing his words. Joe shook his head. He stepped closer and lifted a hand to trace his finger lightly along her jawbone, across her lips.

"It's the girl in the dress. It's the light in your eyes and the way you move and everything that makes you you." He pressed his lips to the pulse point in her throat, then grazed her skin with his teeth. "I'm tempted to blow off this whole thing and take you to bed." He bit down harder, sucking at the tender skin until Nancy twisted away from him, catching her breath.

"Everyone is going to see that."

"Good."

Nancy had never seen this side of Joe before, and despite herself she was responding to it. She didn't usually enjoy possessiveness- but Joe, she sensed, was not interested in owning her. She was not a pretty plaything to him. She was herself, a real person, and instead of finding that threatening he rejoiced in it. He knew she had the strength to match his intensity. Nancy shivered. The idea of staying home and exploring this mood was very tempting. After a momentary inner struggle she decided it would be more fun to draw things out, to make him wait.

"Joe," she whispered, "Let's go to the dance."

Joe kissed her, long and deep and persuasive. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Nancy stood on tiptoes, pressing her body against his and winding her arms around his neck, and brought her lips very close to his ear. "I'm not opposed to spending some quality time in your truck between dinner and dessert."

Joe's eyes widened. "In that case, shall we?" he asked, offering her his arm.

Though they did not discuss it, Joe seemed willing to fall in line with Nancy's plans for a slow build-up. He helped her into the truck like a perfect gentleman and went around to his side, adjusting his tie as he went as though it were bothering him.

"Tell me about your case," he said as he turned the key in the ignition. Nancy smoothed her skirt over her thighs, sighing.

"Dead ends everywhere," she said. "I went out to see Sir Morgan this morning. He'd never called me back after the night Glenna disappeared, and I was starting to worry about him."

"You thought maybe he got kidnapped too?"

"I wasn't sure what to think. Anyway, it turned out he'd spent most of his time these past few days at the hospice center with his wife. Her health is failing badly. I caught him just as he was about to leave to spend the day with her." Nancy shook her head. "He looked awful, Joe. Tired and sad and older, somehow."

"Sitting with a dying person is exhausting," Joe said quietly.

"She's been dying for a very long time, apparently."

"Doesn't make it any easier. You can know it intellectually, but seeing it actually happen is always a shock."

"Especially under circumstances like these. I am more determined than ever to clear this case up quickly and give that poor man some relief." Nancy paused. "Anyway, I summed up my progress for him. He didn't have any idea where Glenna might be held and he did not recognize Amber's photograph. His spirits did seem to rise when I told him about Ryan."

"Good," Joe said. "Maybe having a grandson to care for will help him get through his grief."

Nancy glanced over at him. "There was one other thing. Joe, didn't you catch that vandal this week?"

Joe looked interested. "I did. Why? Don't tell me there's a copycat vandal at work already."

"Well, maybe. Sir Morgan mentioned he had spotted a trespasser last night down by the path to the old guest house. Apparently the guest house you can see from the road is actually the new one and there's a small, older house abandoned back in the woods behind the manor house."

"I think I knew that," Joe said. "Some of the kids from school used to sneak in there to smoke and stuff until one guy got bit by a snake. Did Sir Morgan call the police?"

"He did, but they told him this teenager had been causing trouble all summer and there wasn't much they could do unless he caught him red-handed. He's just supposed to keep an eye out and call if he sees the person again."

Joe looked annoyed. "Well, I definitely caught Spraycan Sam. Which, by the way, is about the dumbest nickname I've ever heard for a criminal, and he coined it himself. That boy is going nowhere fast. It is possible one of his idiot friends has decided to imitate him."

Nancy laughed. "Job security, Joe." She reached over and rested her left hand on his leg, playing idly with the inner seam of his trousers as she went on talking. "I stopped by the Bay View after leaving Sir Morgan."

"Returning to the scene of our crime? Bold move," Joe commented. If he was affected by her touch, he was not betraying it. Nancy slid her hand just a few centimeters higher and resumed her light stroking, one finger sliding up and down the ridge of the seam, her palm flat against the muscle of his thigh. Joe shifted, letting his left knee tilt out wider toward the door and sliding down a bit in his seat to push Nancy's hand higher. She pretended not to notice.

"I figured if Amber had been the one to search Rowena's room, it was possible she might have returned to use the place as a hideout. She knew it was unoccupied and could have bribed the clerk to keep her secret." She frowned. "I wish I knew that guy's name. Anyway, he's smarter than he acts. He put on a dumb show and blocked me out completely but I saw a nasty look in his eyes when he thought I wasn't looking. Finally I just had to leave there and head home to get ready."

Nancy had left the Bay View feeling very annoyed. She had stopped at Bess's house on her way home and had found her arguing with her husband over lunch.  
"Nancy," Tom had said, sounding relieved. "Tell Bess she has to come to the dance tonight."  
"Bess, you have to come to the dance tonight," Nancy had said obediently.  
"I'm sorry, but my gingham frock is at the dry cleaner," Bess had said sarcastically. Tom had rolled his eyes.  
"You see what I'm up against here?"  
Nancy had pulled out a chair, sat astride it and rested her chin on its back, turning big, imploring eyes on her friend. "Please?" she had coaxed. "It's going to be fun. You need a night out."  
"There's going to be a banjo. Possibly a mandolin. This is Bayport we're talking about, so there may even be bagpipes. My head hurts just thinking about it."  
"Hannah is coming over to watch Myra and Ryan," Tom had said. "We can't change our plans now. That's just rude."  
"He's right, Bess. Hannah's been looking forward to this all week," Nancy had said. Bess had groaned. Nancy, sensing weakness, had decided to play her trump card. "Besides, Joe and I are going and you haven't seen us together yet."  
Bess had made an irritated sound and stood up, beginning to clear away the lunch plates. "Fine. Fine. I'll go."

Joe cut into Nancy's thoughts. "I have faith in you, Nan." He dropped a hand down to cover hers. "It always gets worse right before everything comes clear. Let's just have fun tonight and let your subconscious do its thing."

"You're right," Nancy said, smiling at him.

Joe swung the truck into a parking space and released his seatbelt so he could turn toward her. Before Nancy could withdraw her hand from his leg he dropped his own hand back down and captured hers, pressing it lightly against his leg.

"Are you just gonna tease, or do you plan to do something about it?" he said, sliding their joined hands another few inches up his thigh.

"Now what could I possibly have planned?" Nancy said innocently. She dropped her gaze to his belt buckle and licked her lips slowly, deliberately, breaking into a smile when she heard Joe's sharp intake of air. Her eyes flicked back up to his.

"Yes. Please," he said hoarsely, and Nancy immediately slid down to kneel on the floor of the truck. It was a bit cramped, but not terrible. His fingers tangled with hers as they both went to work on his belt and zipper.

"I don't mean to break the mood," Nancy said, stroking him lazily with her hand, "but do you have any napkins? We can't really afford to get messy right now."

"In the glove box," Joe said. "No. Shit. Don't try to turn around. Here." He pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "For once Aunt Gert was right. That did come in handy."

Nancy, who had been doing marvelous things to him with her tongue, pulled back to laugh. She tipped her face up and Joe leaned in to kiss her, slow and deep and exquisite, while her hand busied itself between them. He finally moaned and pulled away and Nancy replaced her hand with her mouth. This was not an act she had much experience with- Ned had found it distressing, demeaning even, and Sergei had never suggested it- and she pulled back to tell him so. Joe seemed to be enjoying himself. His head lolled back, eyes closed; his hands were clenched into fists at his sides in an effort to keep himself from spoiling her hairstyle. "Oh, hell," he panted. "You're doing fine. Don't fucking stop now." Reassured, Nancy resumed operations. She picked up the rhythm of it after a moment and began to enjoy the experience. Joe, always vocal, moaned out incoherent endearments and encouragement until the very last, when his brain failed him.

Breathing hard, Joe reached for the handkerchief and wiped her mouth before cleaning himself off. His eyes were filled with tenderness. He pulled her up into his lap for a long, sweet kiss.

"That was incredible. You are a surprising girl, Nancy Drew."

"Surprising?"

"Public sex acts don't really fit your image."

"Oh, we've danced pretty close to this line before. Do the words 'Bay View Motel' ring any bells?" Nancy reminded him. "Or 'your driveway'?"

"Good point." Joe kissed her again, harder this time. "Your turn," he murmured, slipping a hand up her skirt.

"Not yet," Nancy told him reluctantly. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Nan?"

"I don't want to rush it," she said, knowing he'd understand. He did. He moved his hands to more neutral locations on her body and gave her another thousand-year kiss, slow and deep and full of promises.

They sat together for a few minutes, catching their breath. Finally Joe sighed.

"Are we decent enough to go in?"

Nancy looked him over, straightened his tie and smoothed his hair. "Good as new. Am I okay?"

"You're beautiful. I think I'm wearing most of your lipstick, though," Joe said, fishing her clutch up from between the seat and the center console and handing it to her. Nancy quickly touched up her lipstick while Joe came around to open her door.

"Look, here comes Frank. We're not even late," he said happily.

They waited for Frank and Callie to park and the four young people all walked in together. Nancy was surprised to see more than a few men wearing kilts, including Police Chiefs Collig and McGinnis and George's date, a handsome volunteer firefighter named Regan.

"Bess warned me about this, but I didn't realize the Scottish heritage ran so deep in this area," she said. "I thought you said it'd be a square dance?"

"Part square dance, part ceilidh," Frank said from her other side.

"It's lots of fun," Callie told her. "Frank and I have been coming for five years now. It's one of my favorite dates."

Nancy turned to Joe. "So where is your kilt?" she asked, eyes twinkling. He grinned down at her.

"Torn from my fleeing body by a horde of screaming women last year. The sight of my manly calves drove them wild."

"I see Chet and Elvira. There's our table," Frank said, ignoring his younger brother's outrageous ego. He seemed a bit tense, Nancy noticed. George and Regan soon joined them, completing their table.

The dinner was excellent and the conversation, as a whole, was merry. Chet was back to his usual self. He brought Nancy a colossal slice of pie from the buffet and apologized several times for the way he'd talked to her on the phone.

"Chet, it's okay. I'm just glad you weren't more badly injured," Nancy assured him.

Bess, bored and grumpy, raised her eyebrows at Nancy during a lull in the conversation. "You two are so cliche. Couldn't you keep your hands off each other until after dinner, at least?" Joe shot Nancy a surprised look across the table and Nancy just shrugged. Bess always knew. She had some kind of sixth sense about intimacy.

"Look at him, Bessie. Can you blame me?" she said lightly, scooping half her pie onto Bess's plate. Bess half-smiled in spite of herself.

"I'm sorry, Nan. I didn't mean to snark at you. I guess I'm just a little jealous that we're not in that can't-get-enough-of-each-other stage anymore." Bess reached over and grabbed her husband's hand. "Not that I don't love you, sweetie. You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know," he said affectionately.

"Relationships evolve," Nancy said. "It's not a bad thing. You two have a history together, a family. You've survived the impetuous early days and now you're- oh, this will sound so cheesy, but you're like a river, running deep, your course set." She shook her head a little, impatient with herself for sounding like a bad greeting card, but when she looked at her friends she saw that both Bess and Callie looked teary-eyed and Chet's date was nodding thoughtfully.

"Thanks," Bess said softly. "That helps."

After dinner the music started. The musicians were excellent and the music caught Nancy up, bagpipes and fiddle and guitar making her blood sing through her veins. Exhilarated by the music and companionship, Nancy felt as though she could dance forever. They danced round dances and the Siege of Ennis and the Stack of Barley and square dance after square dance. Faces flashed by: George and Callie taking their places on either side of her in a round dance, Joe linking arms with her to promenade, Fenton Hardy and Frank and Regan and Chief McGinnis handing her courteously through the steps. At one point she spotted Ned, who was not wearing a kilt, dancing nearby with his Emily. In her elevated state Nancy just smiled at him and he smiled back, offering her his friendship at last. Though she would have been happier if Bess had been in a better mood, all in all Nancy was breathless and delighted (and thankful for Hannah's sensible shoe advice).

As the evening wore on, Chet, still suffering from guilt, collected Nancy to dance a rather mechanical Virginia Reel. His brow was furrowed in concentration and he still managed to miss most of the steps, giving him further cause for apologizing. He was terribly sweet, but between his errant feet and his emotional burden it was an exhausting dance. Nancy was happy to hand him back over to Elvira DeGroot when it was over. The musicians segued into a waltz and Joe took her into his arms. Nancy smiled her relief and Joe laughed.

"Our pal Chester still trying to make nice to you?"

Nancy shuddered. "He dances like a wind-up toy. I wish he'd just believe me that I'm not offended."

Joe twirled her playfully, pulled her back into his arms. "I liked what you said to Bess," he told her.

"Ah, yes. I'm thinking I should quit detecting and offer my services to the Hallmark company," she said dryly.

"It's not really possible to say that kind of thing without sounding funny," Joe said. "There aren't enough words for things as real as that."

Nancy turned her face up and kissed him gently. "I'm glad you understand." They swayed together for a few measures before Joe bent and rested his forehead on hers.

"In light of all that, do you think our relationship is too shallow?"

"You mean, do I think we are too physical?"

"Yeah."

"I'm happy, Joe. I meant what I said about relationships evolving. We won't always be this- this primal, I guess is the word. And I'm really enjoying it. We connect on every level. I don't feel bad about enjoying the physical side of things."

"That's a relief," Joe said, "because it would suck trying to hold back now."

"Especially since, if I am not mistaken, it is still my turn," Nancy teased.

"Hey, you know where we parked. Just give me a nod and I'll meet you out there anytime," Joe said with a grin. "Just not right after this song."

"What happens right after this song?"

"That mission is classified," he said seriously, and he refused to divulge any further details. When the waltz ended, he escorted her to a spot where she had a good view of the dance floor, told her to stay put, and bounded off through the crowd. Nancy saw him conferring with Frank for a moment before she lost him in the milling throng. He reappeared a few minutes later next to the stage. The musicians were taking a break but the guitarist, who had seemed to be waiting for someone, smiled at him and handed over his guitar before stepping offstage. Joe vaulted up and approached the microphone, adjusting the guitar strap as he went.

"This song goes out by special request to my best friend and his girl," he said briefly. He closed his eyes for a moment and then his fingers were picking out the introduction to "Time in a Bottle" and his voice picked up the tune, delivering the simple and beautiful lyrics in a sincere way that gave Nancy goosebumps.

If I could save time in a bottle  
The first thing that I'd like to do  
Is to save every day till eternity passes away  
Just to spend them with you.

Many people started dancing again. Nancy, suddenly realizing what was going to happen, scanned the crowd for one particular head of dark hair. She found her target just as he dropped to one knee in front of Callie Shaw. At that distance she could not hear what either one of them said, but the smile on Callie's face and the long embrace that followed told her everything she needed to know.

Awareness of what had happened spread out like ripples through the crowd; Joe's song ended in a swell of applause and a flurry of well-wishers converging on the couple. Nancy caught Joe's eye across the room and blew him a kiss before he jumped down to hand the guitar back to its owner. Several teenagers flocked toward him to congratulate him on his performance, their lithe bodies blocking him from Nancy's view- and suddenly, it all clicked. A slight figure, half-seen in the fringe of the woods...what if Sir Morgan had been looking at Amber, not a teenaged vandal? Amber was very slim and she wore her hair short. What if she had been living in the old guesthouse? Filled with excitement, Nancy grabbed her clutch and headed for the exit. She would text Joe once she got clear of the crowd; that would be easier than making her way in to extract him.

Outside, Nancy took a deep breath of cool air and reached for her phone. Subconscious successful, she tapped out. Meet m-

"Get back inside," a voice said, startling her. "I don't want to watch you guys in action."

Nancy dropped her phone back into her bag without hitting "send" and turned to see Bess leaning against the "No Smoking" sign posted on the side of the building, a lit cigarette in her hand. She really was in a foul mood, then. Bess only smoked when she was truly upset.

"No, no," she said quickly. "I'm not out here for sex. Are you okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah, I'm just sulking." Bess took a last drag on her cigarette and stubbed it out. "If this isn't a rendezvous, what are you doing out here?"

"I had an epiphany!" Nancy frowned. "And I've just had another one: I didn't drive myself here. If I take your car can you guys get a ride home with George?"

"You're not waiting for Joe?"

Nancy headed out into the parking lot, Bess trailing in her wake. "No time. It's a mob in there; Frank just proposed to Callie-"

"What?"

"Hey, that's what you get for moping around. You miss stuff. Where'd you guys park?"

"Over there, but Nan, I don't have the keys."

"Shit." Nancy swivelled back toward the building, pulling out her phone to finish her text to Joe. Before she could begin typing a familiar flash of blonde caught her eye at the gas station next door. Bess saw it, too.

"Amber!" Bess shrieked, charging off in that direction remarkably fast despite her 6-inch heels. "Amber, you bitch! Get over here!"

"Bess, no!" Nancy cried, running after her. Free of Bess's maternally-fuelled tunnel vision, and she could see that Amber was not alone. The desk clerk from the Bay View was with her. As the girls approached he calmly finished replacing the gas cap on Amber's car and reached into his pocket for what Nancy instinctively knew was a handgun.

"Bess!" Amber cooed with false friendliness, stepping forward. "Hey, girl, how nice to see you! And Nancy too!"

Bess slowed, stumbling. There were tears on her face, but they were tears of anger. "How could you do that to your own baby? He's been crying for his mother and I had no idea what to tell him!"

Amber's face hardened. "He won't remember it. This whole thing is almost over. Get in the car, girls."

Nancy, half-concealed behind Bess, reached for her phone again. Jimmy-or-Timmy jerked the gun toward her.

"Drop it, lady."

"You'd better listen to him," Amber said. "Both of you, drop your purses." They did. "Now get in the damn car."

"No," Bess said defiantly. Her face was a mask of fury, tears, and mascara.

"Bess," Nancy said gently, touching her friend's arm. Bess yanked away.

"No! I've been comforting her child for two days now and the bitch doesn't even care! Fuck you, Amber. You might not care about Ryan but you are not taking me away from my child."

Amber ignored her. "Ashley?" she said, turning to her accomplice.

Ashley? His name is Ashley? Nancy's brain barely had time to register this puzzling bit of information before the man stepped forward, turning his gun around in his hand. His arm raised; Nancy saw a triumphant smirk on his face, felt a sharp blow, and knew nothing but darkness.


	12. Idlewild Revisited

Nancy's first waking impressions were of discomfort. Her head throbbed, and there was a dull ache in her arms, which were bearing all her weight. She managed to get her knees under her and stood up, moving slowly to let the buzzing in her head subside. When her head cleared she looked around, assessing her situation. The room was dark, the air cold and moist- a cellar, then. And she was not alone: two dark forms lay huddled on the floor across the room. Nancy thought she could hear breathing from at least one of them. She put aside her concern for the moment and turned her attention to her bonds. Her ankles were free, but her hands been placed one on either side of the newel post at the bottom of the stairs and tied together on the other side. She couldn't slip her hands over the top of the post because of the railing. Nancy tested the strength of the rope and its knots, knowing escape wouldn't be as easy as that, and found them both secure. She sighed, wishing Bess would wake up.

Several minutes passed. One strap of Nancy's dress had slipped off her shoulder and lay drooping against her arm, tickling her bicep. It was only a minor irritation; under the circumstances, Nancy was not even sure if it qualified as a valid irritation at all. Nevertheless, it was driving her crazy- and truth be told, Nancy was glad of the distraction. It gave her mind something to hold on to other than fear. Nancy wriggled, attempting to get a grip on the strap with her chin and drag it back into place. No luck.

Across the room, one of the dark shapes on the floor stirred and moaned. "Nancy!" she cried out, fear sharpening her tone.

"I'm here, Bess," Nancy said, abandoning the strap to its waywardness. In the gloomy half-light she watched Bess struggle for a moment, discovering the limitations of her own bound wrists and ankles before managing to rock to a seated position.

"It's been awhile since this happened," she said in a small, shaky voice. "I used to have nightmares about being tied up."

"I'm so sorry," Nancy said into the dark. There was a long pause, broken finally by a gasp from Bess.

"Nancy. There's a body in here!"

"I know, sweetie. I think it's Glenna Davis."

Bess whimpered and scooted herself farther away from the supine figure. "Is she- is she dead?"

"I don't think so. Drugged, maybe. I'm pretty sure I heard her breathing earlier."

"We have to get out of here!"

"We will," Nancy said firmly, attempting to check the rising tide of her friend's hysteria. "Can you get your hands free?"

"No," Bess said after a few moments. Her voice was wavery again, tear-filled. "I was fighting with Tom. I d-didn't want to go to that stupid dance so I was being such a bitch and n-now I'm never going to get to tell him I'm sorry!"

"Stop that. Of course you're going to see Tom again," Nancy said sharply.

Bess, forehead resting on her knees, gave a shaky half-laugh, half-sob. "I know," she said. "I'm sorry, Nan. You always get us out of these situations."

Nancy's heart sank a little under the burden of responsibility. This was worse than their old adventures. This time, she was responsible not only for Bess but for the future of Bess's husband and her little girl. Too much was hanging on the outcome, on her resourcefulness. She bit her tongue on all the words she could have said and flexed her wrists again, pulled and twisted until she could feel warm blood welling up from her raw skin. It made no difference. The cords bit into her skin, tight and sturdy as they had been when she started.

A few hours passed, by Nancy's estimation, before the girls heard a door opening and the clatter of two sets of feet descending the stairs. A powerful flashlight beam bobbed ahead of their visitors, dazzling the captives' eyes. Amber came into view first, followed closely by her unlikely accomplice.

"Ashley!" Nancy said as her memory came flooding back. The revelation struck her as funny and she laughed.

"Shut up," Amber said, giving her a shove as she passed by. Nancy stumbled, her bound hands catching her with a sharp jerk that sent pain flashing through her shoulders and wrists. Ashley, his lips drawn back in a horrible parody of a smile, aimed a kick at her as he came into range.

"Leave her alone!" Bess cried.

"Little Bessie Do-Good," Amber sing-songed. "Why can't we all just be friends?"

"Ha!" Ashley laughed, kicking at Nancy again. He seemed to enjoy inflicting pain. Nancy did not give him the satisfaction of seeing her wince. When he stepped in to kick her a third time she hooked his ankle with one of her legs and knocked him off-balance.

"Bitch!" he yelped, jumping up. He would have attacked her again if Amber hadn't interrupted.

"Ashley!" Amber snapped. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Get over here."

"Let me kill her," Ashley panted. "Nobody gets to knock me down. You didn't pay me to get knocked down." He turned away, though, and Nancy seized the opportunity to scramble back to her feet. She wouldn't take another blow without a fight.

"I won't pay you at all if you don't get over here." Amber was rummaging at the far end of the room, searching through shelves and boxes for something. "Where did you put it?"

"On the shelf. Ha! Not tall enough." Ashley crossed the room obediently and reached down a large plastic jug, holding it out to the woman. Amber crossed her arms and stared at him.

"Pour it into a cup, idiot."

"Cup, cup, cup," he repeated, turning around helplessly.

"Here." Amber thrust a large plastic cup into his hands and stood back, watching him fill it from the jug.

"Amber," Bess said, pleading this time. "Amber, please. We're both mothers. You should understand. Please let me go free."

"I can't do that," Amber said, avoiding eye contact with her former friend. It was the first indication she'd given that she could feel guilt. "Just stop talking to me."

Bess wouldn't shut up. "Are you going to kill us?"

Knowing this train of thought could not possibly be helpful for Bess (and oh, Bess, I need you to keep a level head. I can't do this alone.), Nancy interrupted. "This is where you confess, Amber. We already know you kidnapped Glenna and sabotaged my brakes. Did you kill Sebastian and Rowena?"

Amber grimaced. "I only meant to kill Sebastian. That bastard was going to take Ryan away from me. Rowena was in the wrong place at the wrong time." She laughed suddenly. "Can't say I'm broken up about it, though. She was a snooty witch."

Ashley suddenly clamped one hand onto Nancy's skull and thrust the cup against her lips, tipping it until liquid sloshed against her skin. Fearful of being drugged like Glenna, or even poisoned, Nancy struggled until Amber finally stepped over and pinched her nose shut until she was forced to gasp for air. Ashley poured the contents of the cup into her mouth, making her choke and gag. She swallowed quite a lot of it before Ashley released her head and allowed her to stagger back against the post.

"Bess, don't make a spectacle of yourself," Amber said contemptuously, moving away from Nancy. "It's just water. Drink." Again, Ashley filled the cup from the jug. Bess sobbed, but she drank her portion without making a fuss.

"Good girl," Amber said.

"Were you the one who ransacked Rowena's motel room?" Nancy asked, having recovered her composure. Amber shrugged.

"I figured I should see if she had any cash. I didn't realize she was sitting on a fucking gold mine. That ring got me some quick money, and the letters are going to set me up for life."

"Why did you take Glenna?"

"I had to," Amber said. "Her old man didn't know it, but she always knew about Sebastian and I knew they talked sometimes. She might have known who I was. Plus, with Glenna out of the picture, Ryan stands to inherit the whole estate. Can you imagine, my trailer trash kid owning an estate?" She giggled. Ashley laughed too, in a dutiful fashion.

"But you couldn't kill her," Nancy said evenly. She was beginning to feel odd, slightly out of sync with her body and her surroundings. There had definitely been something in that water. Across the room, Bess sat silent, her head pillowed on her drawn-up knees.

"Got to set everything up nice with Sir Grandpa first," Amber said. "Once he changes his will to benefit Ryan, maybe we give him his girl back. Maybe we don't. Either way, I have his letters. He'll have to pay out for the rest of his life."

"Amber, his wife is dying. That's the only leverage you've got. He's not going to pay you off forever and he may decide he doesn't need to at all once she's gone. Let us all go and you'll be in much less trouble. You don't want to commit a murder."

Ashley corrected her. "Three murders. Three." He sounded almost eager. Nancy turned her head to glare at him.

"What are you doing with this asshole anyway?" Her voice sounded thick in her own ears, and it was an effort to string the thought together.

"He's been very useful to me," Amber said.

"I like working for Amber. It's so boring sitting behind that desk."

"Stop talking," Amber told him. "Come on." They shelved their half-empty jug and left, abandoning the girls and Glenna once more to the cold and the dust and the dark. Bess picked up her head, startling Nancy.

"What are we going to do? They're going to kill us!" she said, voice filled with panic. "Did you swallow that water?"

"Couldn't help it. Thought you were knocked out, Bess."

"I suspected something was wrong with it so I let it trickle out the corner of my mouth instead of swallowing. Good thing it's dark in here."

"Clever girl," Nancy said, smiling.

"It was definitely drugged, though. I feel a little wobbly. How bad are you?"

"I'm okay," Nancy said, though the world was swelling and surging around her as though she were standing on the deck of a boat. Just a few hours ago she had been dancing with Joe, the music bubbling through her veins, completely happy. It felt like another lifetime. If only I'd finished sending that text to Joe!, she thought angrily. She wanted to apologize to Bess, but the words wouldn't quite make it past her leaden tongue.

She must have slipped in and out of consciousness for awhile because the next clear impression she had was of Bess's frantic voice babbling at her between steady sobs. She was headed toward hysterics at the thought of being on her own in that cellar and she was certain of being killed and never seeing Tom and Myra again.

"Nancy, please wake up," she begged. "Please, Nan. I need you. I don't want to die alone."

"Bess. No. Not alone," Nancy said. Her voice didn't sound right, the words didn't sound right. Bess burst into a fresh bout of sobbing.

"What are we going to do?"

Nancy ignored her. She was beginning to realize that not all the world's motion was in her head. Her falling weight from Amber's shove and Ashley's kicks must have loosened the old newel post in its socket. It was shifting, not much but enough to reignite hope's slow burn in her chest. Nancy summoned all her strength and focus and rocked against the post again.

"Are you even listening to me?" Bess demanded. Nancy's head snapped toward her friend and she gathered as much mental clarity as she could muster.

"Bessie, what's your favorite cake recipe?"

"Have you lost your mind?" Bess said angrily. She needed Nancy to be strong and lucid. Nancy didn't blame her. She was more than a little angry herself at the growing temptation to close her eyes and surrender to the blackness again.

"Not my mind, just a bet. C'mon. What's the best you've got?" She tugged, fingers going numb from the increased pressure on her bindings, and the post creaked. Bess took a long, shaky breath. Nancy had hoped the question would calm her, give her something to focus her mental energy on, and she was right.

"My N-Nana's German chocolate cake is good," she said, hiccuping. "But I'm not sure I should give it to you."

"Why?" Nancy gritted out, slamming her body against the post. It was definitely moving more now, rocking, beginning to give way.

"My poor Nana would roll over in her grave if she knew her recipe was going to be used for immoral purposes. What are you doing over there? Are you okay?"

"Yes." Slam. She was going to be black-and-blue- hell, she was already black-and-blue, and her body was protesting louder by the moment- but the post was beginning to groan. "Tell me the recipe, Bess. I promise- " slam- "I won't let Joe eat it off my naked chest." Slam. "I need a fudge frosting recipe, too."

Bess giggled hysterically. "I don't believe you. I've seen you guys together now. You're volatile."

"Well, next seance I have, I swear I won't tell your Nana. Recipe, sweetie."

Bess's voice quavered, but she began her recitation. She had barely made it past the toasted coconut when the newel post gave way, twisting and splintering off its base. Nancy fell with it and landed like a dancer or a jockey, softening her muscles and rolling to let her shoulder take the brunt of the impact. She lay for a moment, waiting for her lungs to fill with air again, letting reality wash over her in long, rolling waves. After a bit she forced herself to her hands and knees, disentangled herself from the wreckage, and lurched drunkenly over to Bess. The two girls untied each other's hands and then Nancy crawled over to check on Glenna while Bess untied her own ankles.

"Her pulse is weak, but she's alive," Nancy reported, resting her forehead on the floor for a moment and wishing the room would stop moving. Child's pose, her brain said helpfully. Good lower back stretch. Should we do some sun salutations next?

"What are we going to do now?" Bess's voice cut through her meandering thoughts.

Nancy took a deep breath, trying to focus. Her tongue still felt heavy, like it belonged to someone much older and larger than she. "They're not guarding us or that crash would've brought them down here."

"So let's get out of here!" Bess said urgently, heading for the staircase.

"We can't leave Glenna."

"We'll call the police when we get away," Bess said. "Come on, Nancy."

"I'm not sure I can run," Nancy said, easing herself upright and resting her spinning head against the wall. "Can you?"

"I'm fine. My dose was much smaller than yours." Bess came back over to her and knelt in front of her, peering into her face. Now that there was a definite course of action in front of her, Bess had become very calm. "Hold on, Nan. I'll get help."

"Brave Bess," Nancy said affectionately.

"I'd be bawling in a corner if it weren't for you," Bess said.

"Switch shoes."

"What?"

"Shoes. My shoes. Hannah chose my shoes."

Bess nodded her understanding, already sitting down to yank off her frivolous heels and pull on Nancy's low wedges. "Good idea. Even drugged you're smarter than I am." Bess scrambled to her feet, trembling but determined. She bent down to look Nancy in the eyes. "I'm going to go now. I think I can make it to the manor house and get help. You're going to be okay."

The cellar seemed darker after Bess had gone. Nancy finally yanked her fallen dress strap back up onto her shoulder and felt a little better. Her body ached and her head was spinning; she was sorely tempted to lie down on the dirty concrete floor and join Glenna in slumber. She forced herself to remain upright and be on her guard. The door undulated in and out of focus in front of her eyes and the darkness in her peripheral vision swirled with things half-seen. Nancy caught her head falling forward time after time. Time ceased to have any meaning. Bess could have been gone five minutes or five hours. Nancy felt panic welling up inside her and she concentrated on taking deep breaths, remaining calm. Bess is fine. Help is coming. Don't break now.

Finally Nancy heard something other than her own and Glenna's labored breathing. There was a scuffling sound from the floor above, followed by blows and curses and a heavy thud, and the world rolled on its axis again and suddenly Bess and George were at her side. George, sweaty and grinning and radiant, put her arm around Nancy and helped her stand up.

"Just like old times, girls," she said merrily.

"You look like an angel," Nancy whispered, letting her head land hard on the dark-haired girl's shoulder. George laughed.

Bess's face loomed in close. "The police are on their way. George and Joe beat them here. Joe is upstairs guarding the prisoners."

"I'll go change places with him. He wants to see you." George shifted Nancy onto Bess's shoulder and went bounding back upstairs. After a moment Joe was there, his arms around her, his face buried in her hair.

"Drew," he said into her ear, "you don't get out of our date that easily." And Nancy laughed, swaying against him.

"She got a much bigger dose than I did," Bess's voice said from somewhere behind him, and then Joe was picking her up. He sat down on a crate, holding her in his lap and cradling her head against his chest. Nancy heard sirens, heard Chief McGinnis's booming voice upstairs, and started to laugh.

"He's still wearing his kilt, isn't he," she said, and Joe laughed too.

After a few minutes somebody called for them to come upstairs. Nancy wanted to walk, but Joe carried her. George followed, and Bess, carrying her shoes, brought up the rear.

"Where are they?" Nancy asked.

"Your two captors are on their way into town," Chief McGinnis answered. "Ms. Marvin here was able to make a positive identification. In light of your current condition, I'd like you to come down to the station and give your statement in the morning."

"Thank you," Nancy said drowsily. "Did somebody tell Sir Morgan?"

"He's here, Nan," Bess said. "He's with his daughter."

"Set her down, please, Joe," a paramedic said, approaching with a medical bag. "Do you have any idea what substance you were given?"

"Check the cellar," Nancy said.

"They added it to our drinking water," Bess told the young man. George ran downstairs and soon returned with the half-empty jug and a bottle of sleeping tablets. The paramedic checked the bottle, noting how many pills had been used, and looked angry.

"You'll be fine," he told the girls, "but you got lucky. I don't know what they were thinking, giving you such a random dose."

"I don't think they cared much whether they lived or died," Joe said, his voice taut with fury.

"Glenna?" Nancy asked.

"I can't say anything definite, but she should recover." The young man packed up his equipment and returned to the ambulance, where his colleagues were just finishing loading Glenna's stretcher.

Nancy sat up, rubbing her aching head. "I'm so sorry I got you involved in this, Bessie."

"Don't be. I'm glad I was here with you," Bess said loyally.

"Wow. You really do hate square dancing," Nancy teased.

Chief McGinnis approached the group again. "Hardy, take your young lady home," he called out. "That's an order. We're all finished here. Well done, Nancy."

Joe guided her to his truck and helped her in, his touch gentle despite the tension evident in his muscles. Nancy sat back gratefully, letting her eyes drift close.

"I wish you'd told me where you were going," he said.

"I tried to." Nancy forced her eyes open, forced her head to turn toward him. "Started texting you and then Bess took off like a crazy person and there was a gun."

Joe nodded. He reached across the seat to take her hand and he stroked it gently, aware of her bruises and welts. He didn't have to tell her that he understood. Joe had lived this same situation many times over. He knew that she didn't need second-guessing or recriminations right now. She just needed space to heal and process and come to terms with the conclusion of another mystery. So he kept his peace and he held her hand and he drove her home to Hannah's waiting arms; and he kissed her, before he left, with passion and relief and complete acceptance.


	13. Epilogue

"Nancy Drew," Joe said, opening his apartment door to her knock. "You did not really bake me a cake."

"I always pay my debts," she said cheerfully, popping up on tip-toe to kiss him as she breezed by. A bit bemused, Joe followed her inside. He leaned against the counter, hands in his pockets, and watched her busy herself in his kitchen.

Feeling his eyes on her, she paused, knife in hand, and looked up. "Besides," she said, "I had to get out of the house. Dad and Hannah were babying me. Dad drove me to the station this morning to give my statement, and Hannah's been plying me with tea and rice pudding all day. I love them dearly, but I needed some space. Is Frank home?"

Joe reached down two plates from the cabinet and set them down next to her cake. "No. He's working," he said. "Nan, I'm really glad to see you, but you look like you should be home in bed." Nancy's eyes were bright and happy, but she still looked tired, and the stiffness in her movements betrayed lingering pain from her bruises. She deftly transferred a slice of cake onto a plate and shook her head at him.

"Lying around will only make things worse. You know that."

"Yeah, I know. I just don't like seeing you in pain." Joe's eyes were hard. "At least that creep is in worse shape than you are."

"Joe. What did you do to him?"

"No more than I had to. Guy pulls a gun on me, I'm not obliged to go easy on him."

Nancy stepped forward, offering him a plate. "Let's sit. Couch or table?"

"Couch."

Joe's mood softened after a few bites of his cake. "This is really good."

"You doubted me?" Nancy grinned at him. "It's Bess's Nana's recipe, so don't get any ideas."

"Ideas?"

"About the sexy potential of chocolate icing. I promised."

"Well, I didn't have any ideas before you said that, but now I'm starting to think." Joe's eyes gleamed with mischief.

"You're going to get yourself haunted by the ghost of a scandalized grandmother," Nancy said.

"Somehow, that doesn't worry me."

"Really?" Nancy teased. "Imagine having an entity in your bedroom who shrieked objections every time you brought a girl in there. Total mood killer."

"It's a good thing my girl is dauntless." Joe abruptly set both their plates on the coffee table and pulled Nancy close, his hands ghosting tenderly over her battered body but his lips crashing down on hers. The kiss was rough, fierce and dark with chocolate and fear. His roaming fingers found a resting place on either side of her head, twining into her hair and tugging just to the point of pain. Nancy made a small sound of surprise and pleasure and rose up on her knees to press the length of her body against his, abandoning herself to his raw need. When the kiss finally ended (both of them panting, leaning into each other, foreheads pressed together), Nancy was surprised to find her face wet with tears. Embarrassed, she reached up with a shaking hand to brush the wetness away. Joe intercepted that hand, circling the wrist with his fingers.

"Nancy," he said hesitantly.

"What is it?"

He looked at her, unable to articulate his thoughts, eyes pleading with her to understand- and Nancy was sure she knew what he meant. I was terrified. I don't want to lose you. Neither of them wanted to speak the words aloud. There was no point indulging in regrets or fears. This was not going to be the last time she or Joe was in danger. Nancy knew that if she cared for Joe, she would have to trust in his abilities and allow him the freedom to do the job he loved; and if Joe cared for her, he would afford her the same freedom. So she made no attempt to articulate the residual fear and relief they were both feeling. Instead, she lay one caressing hand against his cheek and she nodded, showing him she understood. Joe nodded back, letting the tension run out of his muscles.

"I'm glad you're here," he said, releasing her wrist to brush away her tears with his own fingers.

They sat for a while, wrapped up in each other, letting themselves be at peace. Finally Nancy roused herself enough to reach for their abandoned cake.

"I'll fall asleep if I just sit like that."

"That's fine with me," Joe told her. "I'm here to take care of you."

"I know," Nancy said. "But I want to finish my cake."

"I'm considering a second slice," Joe said. "In the interests of placating Nana Marvin's outraged spirit, of course."

"Of course," Nancy said, laughing. Joe eased himself up off the couch, trying not to jostle her.

"Anything for you while I'm up?"

"A glass of water, please. This icing is really rich."

"It's perfect. Chet would get down on one knee and propose marriage to this cake." Joe returned with a second slice and Nancy's water.

"Thanks," she said.

"How's Bess doing?" Joe asked, digging into his cake as though it were not his second large helping.

"She'll be all right. She was still pretty shaken up when we talked this morning, but she's stronger than she gives herself credit for. Have you eaten anything else today?"

Joe swallowed a large bite. "Yeah, why?"

"No reason."

"I went for a really long run earlier. I'm hungry."

"No judgment. Carry on, Bruce Bogtrotter."

Joe laughed at that and went on eating. "Did they find those letters we were searching for?"

"They were at the guesthouse, with the rest of Amber's things."

"So she was really living there."

"She was," Nancy confirmed. "And dealing drugs from there, too. Minor stuff, mostly marijuana and small quantities of pills stolen from her job at the pharmacy."

"That poor kid," Joe said, looking angry again. "That is no life for a child. She has no excuse, either. She had a legitimate job and friends who cared about her."

"I know. Bess is miserable about the whole thing."

"Is Ryan still with her and Tom?"

"No. He's with Sir Morgan now. Chief McGinnis said they took to each other right away."

"Good," Joe said. "So everything is wrapped up, then."

"Everything is wrapped up," Nancy echoed. As always, her satisfaction with her completed job rang just a bit hollow. Joe knew the feeling. The high of solving a case was incredible, but it only lasted a little while and it was always replaced by an emptiness, a need for more puzzles to solve. He patted her knee in silent sympathy.

"I'm sorry I ran out on you after your song," Nancy said. She was feeling tired again and she curled into him, leaning into his chest. Joe stroked her red-blonde hair idly, twirling strands between his fingers.

"I'm sorry I was too busy to notice you running out," he replied. "Been kicking myself for that all day."

"You were giving out autographs to your adoring public, I think," Nancy said lightly.

"Such is the life," Joe sighed. "Detective by day, rock star by night. It's a heavy burden."

Nancy rolled her eyes at him. "I wish I'd gotten to congratulate Frank and Callie, too."

"They understand."

They sat together in companionable silence for a few moments. Joe set his plate aside and finished Nancy's glass of water. She nuzzled her face into his shoulder and sighed.

"Did you hear that Linda Davis passed away this morning?"

"I'm sorry to hear that," Joe said.

"I know that look. What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking it's too bad she never knew the truth about her husband."

Nancy looked surprised. "Don't you think that would have been excessively painful for both of them? Sir Morgan told me he didn't want things to end that way."

"Yeah, maybe not at the end of her life like that. But can you imagine being married to someone for- how long?"

"Fifty years, at least. Maybe closer to 60. Their daughter is around Dad's age."

"Fifty years," Joe repeated. "That's a long time to keep a secret. Is it really possible to live with someone that long and never really know them?"

Nancy was quiet for a moment. "It's a frightening thought," she said. "I think a lot of it has to do with natural self-centeredness. We see what we expect to see, what we want to see. What makes us feel good."

Joe looked down into her face. "Got any secrets, Drew?"

"Hmm." Nancy pretended to think. "Well, not really, unless you count the fact that Biff Hooper and I got married in first grade. Totally legally binding. Frank was the minister and Bess was my bridesmaid. I think we used a zipper pull of George's backpack for my ring."

"Dammit," Joe said. "When were you planning to get that annulled?"

"I'm not sure we want an annulment. Biff and I could have a beautiful future together." They both laughed at that. The Hardys' old friend Biff was happily married and living in Colorado with his wife and two children.

"Joe, think about it," Nancy said, sobering. "We're both detectives. I think our relationship is a bit unusual in that we are habitually going to notice a lot more about each other than a normal couple."

Joe grinned. "That is true."

"I mean, we'll probably let our guard down. We'll fall into that same trick of seeing what we want to see. But I'm not that kind of girl and I know you're not that kind of guy. We'll be okay." Nancy sat up suddenly and looked at him, color rising in her cheeks. "Shit. I sound so creepy right now. We've only been dating a few days and I don't mean to sound like I have the whole future mapped out, just- "

"Drew. I get it," Joe interrupted.

"Good. I thought I was going to scare you off."

"Nah," Joe said, shrugging. "I can't think of a better person to get old and secretive with."

"One day at a time, you clown." Nancy lay her head back down on his shoulder, sighing with true contentment. Joe's arm slipped around her waist. The next case will draw us back into action soon enough, Nancy thought, and Joe seemed to hold a similar sentiment. Her restless mind and his energetic body both, for once, grew still; and they rested together, all the long, lazy afternoon, in the peaceful strength of companionable idleness.


End file.
